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Price.  15  Cents. 


PUBLISHED     BY 


Ttt£*  Dramatic  Publishing  Compaky 

[  CHARLES   H  SEiLGEL.    ,  PRESIDENT 


Hageman's  Make-Up  Book 

By  MAURICE  HAGEMAN 

Price,  25  cents 

The  Importance  of  an  effective  make-up  is  becoming  more  appar- 
ent to  the  professional  actor  every  year,  but  hitherto  there  has  been 
no  book  on  the  subject  describing  the  modern  methods  and  at  the 
same  time  covering  all  branches  of  the  art.  This  want  has  now 
been  filled.  Mr.  Hageman  has  had  an  experience  of  twenty  years 
as  actor  and  stage-manager,  and  his  well-known  literary  ability  has 
enabled  him  to  put  the  knowledge  so  gained  into  shape  to  be  of 
use  to  others.  The  book  is  an  encyclopedia  of  the  art  of  making  up. 
Every  branch  of  the  subject  is  exhaustively  treated,  and  few  ques- 
tions can  be  asked  by  professional  or  amateur  that  cannot  be  an- 
swered by  this  admirable  hand-book.  It  is  not  only  the  best  make- 
up book  ever  published,  but  it  is  not  likely  to  be  superseded  by 
any  other.    It  is  absolutely  indispensable  to  every  ambitious  actor. 

CONTENTS 

Chapter  I.     General   Remarks. 

Chapter  II.     Grease-Paints,  their  origin,  components  and  use. 

Chapter  III.  The  Make-up  Box.  Grease-Paints,  Mirrors,  Face 
Powder  and  Puff,  Exora  Cream,  Rouge.  Liquid  Color,  Grenadine, 
Blue  for  the  Eyelids,  Brilliantine  for  the  Hair,  Nose  Putty,  Wig 
Paste,  Mascaro,  Crape  Hair,  Spirit  Gum,  Scissors,  Artists'  Stomps, 
Cold  Cream,  Cocoa  Butter,  Recipes  for  Cold  Cream. 

Chapter  IV.  Preliminaries  before  Making  up;  the  Straight  Make- 
up and  how  to  remove  it. 

Chapter  V.  Remarks  to  Ladies.  Liquid  Creams,  Rouge,  Lips, 
Eyebrows,  Eyelashes,  Character  Roles,  Jewelry,  Removing  Make-up. 

Chapter  VI.  Juveniles.  Straight  Juvenile  Make-up,  Society 
Men,  Young  Men  in  111  Health,  with  Red  Wigs,  Rococo  Make-up, 
Hands,  Wrists,  Cheeks,  etc. 

Chapter  VII.  Adults,  Middle  Aged  and  Old  Men.  Ordinary  Type 
of  Manhood,  Lining  Colors,  Wrinkles,  Rouge,  Sickly  and  Healthy 
Old  Age,  Ruddy  Complexions. 

Chapter  VIII.  Comedy  and  Character  Make-ups.  Comedy  Ef- 
fects, Wigs,  Beards,  Eyebrows,  Noses,  Lips,  Pallor  of  Death. 

Chapter  IX.  The  Human  Features.  The  Mouth  and  Lips,  the 
Eyes  and  Eyelids,  the  Nose,  the  Chin,  the  Ear,  the  Teeth. 

Chapter  X.     Other  Exposed   Parts  of  the  Human  Anatomy. 

Chapter  XI.  Wigs,  Beards,  Moustaches,  and  Eyebrows.  Choosing 
a  Wig,  Powdering  the  Hair,  Dimensions  for  Wigs,  Wig  Bands,  Bald 
Wigs,  Ladies'  Wigs,  Beards  on  Wire,  on  Gauze,  Crape  Hair,  Wool, 
Beards  for  Tramps,  Moustaches,  Eyebrows. 

Chapter  XII.  Distinctive  and  Traditional  Characteristics.  North 
American  Indians,  New  England  Farmers,  Hoosiers,  Southerners, 
Politicians,  Cowboys,  Minors,  Quakers,  Tramps,  Creoles,  Mulattoes, 
Quadroons,  Octoroons,  Negroes,  Soldiers  during  War,  Soldiers  dur- 
ing Peace,  Scouts,  Pathfinders,  Puritans,  Early  Dutch  Settlers, 
Englishmen,  Scotchmen,  Irishmen,  Frenchmen,  Italians,  Spaniards, 
Portuguese,  South  Americans,  Scandinavians,  Germans,  Hollanders. 
Hungarians,  Gipsies,  Russians,  Turks,  Arabs,  Moors,  Caffirs,  Abys 
sinians,  Hindoos,  Malays,  Chinese,  Japanese,  Clowns  and  Statuary, 
Hebrews,  Drunkards,  Lunatics,  Idiots,  Misers,  Rogues. 

Address  Orders  to 
'THE  DRAMATIC  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

CHICAGO.  ILLINOIS 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT 


A    COMEDY   IN   FIVE   ACTS 


BY 

WILLIAM   SHAKSPEARE 


WITH  THE  STAGE    BUSINESS,  CAST  OF  CHARACTERS, 
RELATIVE    POSITIONS,  ETC. 


CHICAGO   AND  NEW  YORK 
THE  DRAMATIC  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


CAST  OF  CHARACTERS. 


Covent  Garden,  18?.r\ 

The  Duke Mr.  Egerton 

Duke  Frederick..  "  Evans 

Amiens "  Larkin 

Jaques "  Macready 

Le  Beau "  Horrebow 

Eustace "  King 

Louis "  Mears 

Oliver '*  Connor 

Jaques  de  Bois..  ik    Baker 

Orlando.., 41  C.  Kemble 

Adam '•  Chapman 

Charles , '"  Crumpton 

William ;'  Blunehard 

Touchstone "  Fawcett 

Dennis "  Henry 

Sylvius "  Comer 

C jrin "  Atkins 

Rosalind Miss  Jones 

Olia   "    Foote 

Phoebe  ik    Shaw 

Audrey Mrs.  Gibbs 

Hvmeh Miss  Beaumont 


Park,  N.  Y.,  1846 

Mr.  Bellamy 

"    Stark 

"    S.  Pearson 

"    Chas.  Kean 

li    A.  Andrews 

•k    Milot 

M    Heath 

"    M'Douall 

11    G  allot 

"    Dyott 

"    Barry 

"    Matthews 

"    Fisher 

"    Bass 

lv    Sprague 

"    Sutherland 

"    Anderson 
Mrs.  Chas.  Kean 
"    ^466o« 

"    Vernon 


Studebacker, 
Chit  ago,  19(il. 

.Mr,  Edward  Page 

'•    Geoffrey  Stein 
"    Harry  Gunson 
11  «/o/m  MaXone 
"    C.  if.  Bowers 
"    Jaines  Ahem 
"    John  McFeeters 
"    Addison  Pitt 
wk    Norman  Gallot 
"    Joseph  Kilgour 
"    William  Herbert 
'•    Henry  Crampton 
"    Geoffrey  Stein 
lk    George  Spencer 

"    C.  C.  Quinby 
"    £.  #.  J?«r< 
Mrs.  Henrietta  Crosman 

"    vldete  £/ocA; 

"    Nellie  Hancock 

"    Lottie  Alter 


'  ''  costuWs:" .. 

Ditkk.— Blue    and    'whJt«;  doplil^t  -anCl  Tpiutalpons,  buff    waistcoat,   round 

green  .  velvet  hat  and  tvhrte  plurn'es,  ru'sSet  boots,  a^yandy^  a'"1  gauntlets. 
Duke    Frederick,— Purple    velvet   jacket  and    trunks,  crimson  velvet   robe, 

embroidered    richly,  lined  with  satin   and  edged   with  ermine,  round    pur 

pie  velvet  hat  and  white  plumes,  white  silk  stockings,  russet  shoes,  vandyke 

and  gauntlets. 
Amiens.— Blue  doublet  and  pantaloons,  round  purple  hat  and   white  plume, 

russet  boots,  vandyke  and  gaMjxlleter 
Jaques.— Blue  doublet  and  pantaloons,  trimmed  with  brown  fur,  black   hat 

and  blue  plume,  russet  hoots,  Vandyke  and  gauntlets. 
Orlando.— Olive  brown   doublet  and   pantaloons,  trimmed  with  light    blue, 

brown    cap.    Second  dr  ■ ;.; ,'    Blue  jacket,  buff    pantaloons,   russet    boots, 

vandyke,  &c. 
Oliver— Blue  jacket,  trunks,  and  cloak,  ornamented  with  silver,  black  velvet 

hat  and  white  plumes,  russet  shoes.     Second  dress  :  Round  black  hat,  the 

other  parts  of  the  dress  blue  entirely. 
Touchstone.— A  party-coloured   (red,  white,  and  blue)  doublet,   trunks  and 

cloak  ;  a  curiously  formed  cap,  with  an  ear,  (like  the  ear  of  an  ass)  standing 

up  on  each  side  ;  one  red  and  one  white  stocking,  one  russet  and  one  black 

shoe. 
Le  Beau.— Light-brown    jacket    and    cloak,  trimmed   with  silver,  light-blue 

pantaloons,  white  shoes  with  sat  in  roses,  white  hat  and  plumes. 
Corin  and  Sylvius.  —  Drab  doublet  and  trunks,  russet  shoes  and  brown  raps. 
Rosalind.— White   dress,  spangled  withhold.    Second  dremi   Green  tunic, 

trimmed  with  fur.  blue  pantaloons,  round  hat.  russet  boots. 
Celia.— White  dress,  spangled   with  silver.     Second  dress:  Blue  body,  white 

muslin  skirt,  trimmed  with  green  (lowers. 
PrioxBE.— White,  trimmed  with  green. 
Ai'drey.— Tawdry   gowr    with    largJ  (lowers,  crimson  stuffed   petticoat,   will 

Jacket,  ruffles,  large  Mat  straw  bat, 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — Olivers  Orchard. 
[Enter  Orlando  and  Adam,  r.] 

Orl.  As  I  remember,  Adam,  it  was  in  this  fashion  be- 
queathed me:  By  will,  but  a  poor  thousand  crowns;  and,  as 
thou  say'st,  charged  my  brother,  on  his  blessing,  to  breed  me 
well:  and  there  begins  my  sadness.  My  brother  Jaques  ho 
keeps  at  school,  and  report  speaks  goldenly  of  his  profit :  for 
my  own  part,  he  keeps  me  rustically  at  home,  or,  to  speak 
more  properly,  stays  me  here  at  home,  unkept ;  for  call  you 
that  keeping,  for  a  gentleman  of  my  birth,  that  differs  not 
from  the  stalling  of  an  ox?  His  horses  are  bred  better;  for., 
besides  that  they  are  fair  with  their  feeding,  they  are  taught 
their  manage,  and,  to  that  end,  riders,  dearly  hired;  but  T, 
his  brother,  gain  nothing  under  him  but  growth;  for  the 
which  his  animals  on  his  dunghills  are  as  much  bound  to 
him  as  I.  Besides  this  nothing  that  he  so  plentifully  gives 
me,  the  something,  that  nature  gave  me,  his  countenance 
seems  to  take  from  me;  he  lets  me  feed  with  his  hinds,  bars 
me  the  place  of  a  brother,  and  as  much  as  in  him  lies,  mine3 
my  gentility  with  my  education.  This  is  it,  Adam,  that 
grievt-s  me;  and  the  spirit  of  my  father,  which  I  think  is 
within  me,  begins  to  mutiny  against  this  servitude:  1  will 
no  longer  endure  it,  though  yet  T  know  no  wise  remedy  how 
to  avoid  it.  [Crosses,  l.1 

Adam.      [l.]     Yonder  comes  my  master,  your  brother. 

Orl.  Go  apart,  .Adam,  and  thou  shalt  hear  how  he  will 
shake  me  up.  [Adam  retires  up  the  Stage.'] 

3 


m  mas 


4  as  ycu  like  it. 

[Enter  Oliver,  L.] 

Oliv.     [l.]     Now,  sir!  what  make  you  here? 

Oil.  [r.  c. j  Nothing:  I  am  not  taught  to  make  any- 
thing. 

Oliv.     What  mar  you,  then,  sir? 

Orl.  Marry,  sir,  I  am  helping  you  to  mar  that  which 
Heaven  made — a  poor  unworthy  brother  of  yours,  with 
idleness. 

Oliv.  Marry,  sir,  be  better  employed,  and  be  naught  a 
while. 

Orl.  Shall  I  keep  your  hogs,  and  eat  husks  with  them? 
What  prodigal  portion  have  I  spent,  that  I  should  come  to 
such  penury  ? 

Oliv.     Know  you  where  you  are,  sir? 

Orl.     Oh,  sir,  very  well:  here,  in  your  orchard. 

Oliv.     Know  you  before  whom,  sir! 

Orl.  Ay,  better  than  he  I  am  before,  knows  me.  I  know 
you  are  my  eldest  brother;  and,  in  the  gentle  condition  of 
blood,  you  should  so  know  me.  The  courtesy  of  nations 
allows  you  my  better,  in  that  you  are  the  first  born;  but  the 
same  tradition  takes  not  away  my  blood,  were  there  twenty 
brothers  betwixt  us:  I  have  as  much  of  my  father  in  me  as 
you;  albeit,  I  confess  your  coming  before  me  is  nearer  to 
his  reverence. 

Oliv.     What,  boy!  [Advances  and  lays  hold  of  him.] 

Orl.  Come,  come,  elder  brother,  you  are  too  young  in 
this.  [Part.] 

Oliv.     Wilt  thou  lay  hands  on  me,  villain? 

Orl.  I  am  no  villain :  I  am  the  youngest  son  of  Sir  Row- 
land de  Bois;  he  was  my  father,  and  he  is  thrice  a  villain 
that  says,  such  a  father  begot  villains:  [Lays  hold  of  Oliver.] 
Wert  thou  not  my  brother,  I  would  not  take  this  hand  from 
thy  throat,  till  this  other  had  pulled  out  thy  tongue  for  say- 
ing so;  thou  hast  railed  on  thyself. 

Adam.  [Advancing ,  l.  c]  Swaet  masters,  be  patient;  for 
your  father's  remembrance,  be  at  accord, 

Oliv.     Lei   me  go,  I  say. 

Orl.  I  wiH  not,  till  I  please;  you  shall  hear  me.  My 
father  charged  you,  in  his  will,  to  give  me  good  education: 
you  have  trained  me  up  like  a  peasant,  obscuring  and  hiding 
from  me  all  gentleman-like  qualities:  the  spirit  of  my  father 
grows  strong  in  me,  and  I   will  no  longer  endure   it:   there- 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  5 

fore,  allow  me  such  exercises  as  may  become  a  gentleman, 
or  give  me  the  poor  allottery  my  father  left  me  by  testament; 
with  that  I  will  go  buy  my  fortunes. 

Oliv.  And  what  wilt  thou  do  8  beg,  when  that  is  sjjent  \ 
Well,  sir,  get  you  in;  [Grosses  to  Oliver's  House.]  I  will 
not  long  be  troubled  with  you;  you  shall  have  some  part  of 
your  will:  I  pray  you,  leave  me. 

Orl.  I  will  no  further  offend  you  than  becomes  me  for 
my  good.  [Exit  into  House.] 

Oliv.     [r.]     [To  Adam.]     Get  you  with  him,  you  old  dog! 

Adam.  |  ( 'rossinff.]  Is  "  old  dog  "  my  reward  \  Most  true, 
I  have  lost  my  teeth  in  your  service. — Heaven  be  with  my 
old  master,  he  would  not  have  spoken  such  a  word! 

[Exit  into  House.'] 

Oliv.  Is  it  even  so?  begin  you  to  grow  upon  me?  I 
will  physic  your  rankness,  and  yet  give  no  thousand  crowns 
neither.  [Exit  into  the  House.] 

Scene    II; — Oliver's    House. 

[  Enter  Oliver,  K.  ] 

Oliv.     Holloa,    Dennis! 

[Enter  Dennis,  L>1 

Den.     Calls   your   worship  \ 

Oliv.  Was  not  Charles,  the  Duke's  wrestler,  here,  to 
speak   with  me? 

Den.  So  please  you,  he  is  here,  and  importunes  access 
to    you. 

Oliv.  Call  him  in.  [Exit  Dennis,  L.]  'Twill  be  a  good 
way;  and  to-morrow  the  wrestling  is. 

[Enter  Charles,   L.] 

Chas.      [L.]      Good  morrow  to  your  worship. 

Oliv.  [R.]  Good  Monsieur  Charles!  what's  the  new  news 
at  the  new  court? 

Chas.  There's  no  news  at  the  court,  sir,  but  the  old  news; 
that  is,  the  old  Duke  is  banished  by  his  younger  brother,  the 
new  Duke;  and  three  or  four  loving  lords  have  put  them- 
selves in  voluntary  exile  with  him,  whose  lands  and  revenues 


f,  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

enrich  the  new  Duke;  therefore,  he  gives  them  good  leavs 
to  wander. 

Oliv.  Can  you  tell  if  Rosalind,  the  old  Duke's  daughter, 
be  banished  with  her  father? 

Chas.  Oh,  no,  for  the  new  Duke's  daughter,  her  cousin, 
so  loves  her — being  ever  from  their  cradles  bred  together 
— that  she  would  have  followed  her  exile,  or  have  died 
to  stay  behind  her.  She  is  at  the  court,  and  no  less  beloved 
of  her  uncle  than  his  own  daughter;  and  never  two  ladies 
loved  as  they  do. 

Oliv.     Where   will  the  old  Duke   live? 

Chas.  They  say  he  is  already  in  the  forest  of  Arden; 
and  many  a  merry  man  with  him;  and  there  they  live  like 
the  old  Robin  Hood  of  England:  they  say,  many  young 
gentlemen  flock  to  him  every  day,  and  fleet  the  time  care- 
lessly, as  they  did  in  the  golden  world. 

Oliv.  [l.  c]  What,  you  wrestle  to-morrow,  before  the 
new  Duke? 

Chas.  [r.  c.]  Marry,  do  I,  sir;  and  I  came  to  acquaint 
you  with  a  matter.  I  am  given,  sir,  secretly  to  understand, 
that  your  younger  brother,  Orlando,  hath  a  disposition  to 
come  in  against  me,  to  try  a  fall:  To-morrow,  sir,  I  wresj 
tie  for  my  credit;  and  he  that  escapes  me  without  some 
broken  limb,  shall  acquit  him  well.  Your  brother  is  but 
young,  and  tender;  and,  for  your  love,  I  would  be  loth  to 
foil  him,  as  I  must,  for  mine  own  honour,  if  he  came  in; 
therefore,  out  of  my  love  to  you,  I  came  hither  to  acquaint 
you  withal,  that  either  you  might  stay  him  for  his  intend- 
ment, or  brook  such  disgrace  well  as  he  shall  run  into;  in 
that  it  is  a  thing  of  his  own  search,  and  altogether  against 
my  will. 

Oliv.  Charles,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  love  to  me,  which, 
thou  shalt  find,  I  will  most  kindly  requite.  I  had  myself 
notice  of  my  brother's  purpose  herein,  and  have,  by  un- 
derhand means,  laboured  to  dissuade  him  from  it;  but  he 
is  resolute.  Til  tell  thee,  Charles — it*  is  the  stubbornest* 
young  fellow  of  France;  full  of  ambition,  an  envious  emu- 
lator of  every  man's  good  parts,  a  secret  and  villainous 
contriver  against  me,  his  natural  brother;  therefore,  use 
thy  discretion;  T  had  as  liof  thou  didst  break  his  neck  as 
his  finger;  and  thou  wert  best  look  to't;  for,  if  thou  dost 
him  any  slight  disgrace,  or  it'  lie  do  not  mightily  grace  him- 
self   on    thee,    he    will    practise    again  St    thee   by    poison;    en- 


AS    YUil    LIKE    IT.  7 

trap  thee  by  some  treacherous  device;  and  never  leave 
thee,  till  he  hath  ta'en  thy  life  by  some  indirect  means  or 
other:  for,  I  assure  thee,  and  almost  with  tears  I  speak  it, 
there  is  not  one  so  young  and  so  villainous  this  day  living. 
I  speak  but  brotherly  of  him;  but.  should  I  anatomize  him 
to  thee  as  he  is,  I  must  blush  and  weep,  and  thou  must  look 
pale  and  wonder. 

Chas.  I  am  heartily  glad  I  came  hither  to  you.  If  he 
come  to-morrow,  I'll  give  him  his  payment:  if  ever  he  go 
alone  again,  Til  never  wrestle  for  prize  more.  And  so, 
J  leaven    keep   your   worship.  [Exit,   L.] 

Oliv.  Farewell,  good  Charles!  Now  will  I  stir  this 
gamester:  I  hope  I  shall  see  an  end  of  him;  for  my  soul — 
yet  I  know  not  why,  hates  nothing  more  than  he.  Yet  he's 
gentle;  never  schooled,  and  yet  learned;  full  of  noble  de- 
vice of  all  sorts,  enchantingly  beloved;  and,  indeed,  so  much 
in  the  heart  of  the  world,  and  especially  of  my  own  peo- 
ple, who  best  know  him,  that  I  am  altogether  misprised.  -But 
it  shall  not  be  so  long;  this  wrestler  shall  clear  all:  nothing 
remains,  but  that  I  kindle  the  boy  thither,  which  now  I'll  go 
about.  [Exit,  R.] 

Scene  III. — A  Lawn  hrfore  the  Duke's  Palace. 
[Enter  Rosalind  and  Celia,  R>] 

Cel.     [r.]     J  pray  thee,  Rosalind,  sweet  my  coz,  be  merry. 

Ros.  [  i,.  c.|  Dear  (1elia,  I  show  more  mirth  than  I  am 
mistress  of;  and  would  you  yet  I  were  merrier?  Unless 
you  could  teach  me  to  forget  a  banished  father,  you  must 
not  learn  me  how  to  remember  any  extraordinary  pleasure. 

Cel.  [h.  c.]  Herein,  I  see,  thou  lov'st  me  not  with  the 
full  weight  that  I  love  thee.  If  my  uncle,  thy  banished 
father,  had  banished  thy  uncle,  the  Duke,  my  father,  so  thou 
hadst  been  still  with  me,  I  could  have  taught  my  love  to 
take*thy  father  for  mine;  so  wouldst  thou,  if  the  truth  of 
thy  love  to  me  were  so  righteously  tempered  as  mine  is  to 
thee. 

Ros.  Well,  I  will  forget  the  condition  of  my  estate,  to. 
rejoice  in  yours. 

Cel.  You  know,  my  father  hath  no  child  but  I,  nor  none 
is  like  to  have;  and,  truly,  when  he  dies,  thou  sh^lt  be  his 
heir:   for  what  he  hath  taken   away  from   thy  father  per- 


8  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

force,  I  will  render  thee  again  in  affection;  by  mine  hon- 
our, I  will;  and,  when  I  break  that  oath,  let  me  turn 
monster:  therefore,  my  sweet  Rose,  my  dear  Rose,  be  merry. 

Ros.  From  henceforth  I  will,  coz,  and  devise  spprts;  let 
me  see;  what  think  you  of  falling  in  love? 

Cel.  Marry,  I  pr'ythee,  do,  to  make  sport  withal;  but 
love  no  man  in  good  earnest;  nor  no  further  in  sport,  nei- 
ther, that  with  safety  of  a  pure  blush  thou  may'st  in  honour 
come  off  again. 

Ros.     What  shall  be  our  sport,  then? 

Cel.  Let  us  sit  and  mock  the  good  housewife,  1'ortune, 
from  her  wheel,  that  her  gifts  may  henceforth  be  bestowed 
equally. 

Ros.  I  would  we  could  do  so;  for  her  benefits  are 
mightily  misplaced:  and  the  bountiful  blind  woman  doth 
most  mistake  in  her  gifts  to  women. 

Cel.  "Lis  true;  for  those  that  she  makes  fair,  she  scarce 
makes  honest;  and  those  that  she  makes  honest,  she  makes 
very  ill-favouredly. 

Ros.  Nay,  now  thou  goest  from  Fortune's  office  to  Na- 
ture's :  Fortune  reigns  in  gifts  of  the  world,  not  in  the  linea- 
ments of  nature. 

Cel.  No!  When  Nature  hath  made  a  fair  creature, 
mav  she  not  bv  Fortune  fall  into  the  fire?  [Touchstone  sings 
without,  l.]  Though  Nature  hath  given  us  wit  to  flout  at 
Fortune,  hath  not  Fortune  sent  in  this  fool,  to  cut  off  the 
argument.  [Ladies  retire,  r.] 

[Enter  Touchstone,  l.] 

How  now,  wit!  whither  wander  you? 

Touch,  [l.]  Mistress,  you  must  come  away  to  your 
father. 

Cel.    Were  you  made  the  messenger? 

Touch.  No,  by  mine  honour;  but  I  was  bid  to  come  for 
you. 

Ros.     Where  learned  you  that  oath,  fool? 

Touch.  Of  a  certain  knight,  that  swore  by  his  honour 
they  were  good  pancakes,  and  swore  by  his  honour  the  mus- 
tard was  naught:  now  I'll  stand  to  it,  the  pancakes  were 
naught,  and  the  mustard  was  good;  and  yet  was  not  the 
knight  forsworn. 

Cel.  How  prove  you  that,  in '  the  great  heap  of  your 
knowledge  ? 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  9 

Ros.     Ay,   marry,   now   unmuzzle    your    wisdom. 

Touch.  Stand  you  both  forth  now:  stroke  your  chins, 
and  swear  by  your  beards  that  I  am  a  knave. 

Cel.     By  our  beards,  if  we  had  them,  tLou  art. 

Touch.  By  my  knavery,  if  I  had  it,  then  I  were;  but  if 
you  swear  by  that  that  is  not,  you  are  not  forsworn:  no 
more  was  this  knight,  swearing  by  his  honour,  for  he  never 
had  any;  or,  if  he  had,  he  had  sworn  it  all  away  before  he 
ever  saw   those   pancakes,   or   that  mustard. 

Cel.     Here   comes  Monsieur   Le  Beau. 

Ros.     With   his   mouth   full   of  news. 

Cel.  Which  he  will  put  on  us,  as  pigeons  feed  their 
young. 

Ros.     Then  shall  we  be  news-crammed. 

Cel.     All   the   better;   we  shall  be   the   more  marketable. 

[Enter  ^e  Beau,  L.] 

Bon  jour,  Monsieur  Le  Beau;  what's  the  news '{ 

Le  Beau.     Fair  Princess,  you  have  lost  much  good  sport. 

Cel.     Sport!  of  what  colour? 

Le  Beau.  What  colour,  madam?  how  shall  I  answer 
you? 

Ros.     As  wit  and  fortune  will. 

Touch.     Or  as  the  destinies  decree. 

Cel.     Well  said!  that  was  laid  on  with  a  trowel. 

Le  Beau.  You  amaze  me,  ladies:  I  would  have  told  you 
of  good  wrestling,  which  you  have  lost  sight  of. 

Ros.     Yet  tell  us  the  manner  of  the  wrestling. 

Le  Beau.  [l.  c]  I  will  tell  you  the  beginning,  [Goes 
to  C]  and,  if  it  pleases  your  ladyships,  you  may  see  the  end; 
for  the  best  is  yet  to  do;  and  here,  where  you  are,  they  are 
coming  to  perform  it. 

Cel.     [c.]     Well — the  beginning  that  is  dead  and  buried. 

Le  Beau.     There  comes  an  old  man  and  his  three  sons — 

Cel.     I  could  match  this  beginning  with  an  old  tale. 

Le  Beau.  Three  proper  young  men,  of  excellent  growth 
and  presence — 

Ros.  With  bills  on  their  necks — "Be  it  known  unto  all 
men,  by  these  presents  " — 

Le  Beau.  The  eldest  of  the  three  wrestled  with  Charles, 
the  Duke's  wrestler,  which  Charles,  in  a  moment,  threw 
him  and  broke  three  of  his  ribs,  that  there  is  little   hope 


10  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 

of  life  in  him:  so  lie  served  the  second,  and  so  the  third. 
Yonder  they  lie;  the  poor  old  man,  their  father,  making 
such  pitiful  dole  over  them,  that  all  the  beholders  take  his 
part  with  weeping. 

Ros.     Alas ! 

Touch.  [L.]  But  what  is  the  sport,  Monsieur,  that  the 
ladies  have  lost? 

Le  Beau.     Why,  this  that  I  speak  of. 

Touch.  Thus  men  may  grow  wiser  every  day;  it  is  the 
first  time  that  ever  I  heard  breaking  of  ribs  was  sport  for 
Indies. 

Gel.     Or  T,  I  promise  thee. 

Ros.  But  is  there  any  else  longs  to  see  this  broken  music 
in  his  sides?  Is  there  yet  another  dotes  upon  rib-breaking •( 
Shall  we  see  this  wrestling,  cousin  ? 

Le  Beau.  You  must,  if  you  stay  here;  for  here  is  the 
place  appointed  for  the  wrestling,  and  they  are  ready  to 
perform  it. 

Gel.  Yonder,  sure,  they  are  coming.  Let  us  now  stay 
and  see  it.  [Flourish. — All  retire,  -h*] 

[Enter  Duke    Frederick,   Eustace,  Louis,   Orlando,   Charles, 
and  Attendants,  L.] 

Duke.  Come  on:  since  the  youth  will  not  be  entreated, 
his  own  peril  on  his  forwardness. 

Ros.      Is  yonder  the  man? 

Le  Beau.     Even  ho,  madam. 

Cel.     Alas,  he  is  too  young:  yet  he  looks  successfully. 

Duke,  [c]  How  now,  daughter  an  1  cousin?  are  you 
crept  hither  to  see  the  wrestling? 

Ros.     Ay,  my  liege,  so  please  you  give  us  leave. 

Duke.  You  will  take  little  delight  in  it,  I  can  tell  you, 
there  is  such  odds  in  the  men.  [Retires  to  a  State  Chair.  <  . 
of  background.]  In  pity  of  the  challenger's  youth,  I  would 
fain  dissuade  him,  but  he  will  not  be  entreated:  speak  to 
him,  ladies — see  if  you  can  move  him. 

Cel.     Call  him  hither,  good  Monsieur  Le  Beau. 

Duke.     Do  so;  Til  not  be  by.  [Site.! 

Le  Beau.  Monsieur,  the  challenger,  the  princesses  call 
for  you. 

Orl.     [l.]     I  attend  them,  with  all  respect  and  duty. 

Ros.  [Ron.  and  Cel.  advance  nearer  OrL]  Young  man, 
have  you  challenged.  Charles,  the  wrestler? 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  \\ 

Orl.  Xo,  fair  princess,  he  is  the,  general  challenger;  I 
come  but  in,  as  others  do,  to  try  with  him  the  strength  of 
my   youth. 

Cel.  Young  gentleman,  your  spirits  are  too  bold  for  your 
years.  You  have  seen  the  cruel  proof  of  this  man's  strength: 
if  you  saw  yourself  with  your  eyes,  or  knew  yourself  with 
your  judgment,  the  fear  of  your  adventure  would  counsel 
you  to  a  more  equal  enterprise.  We  pray  you,  for  your 
own  sake,  to  embrace  your  own  safety,  and  give  over  this 
attempt. 

Ros.  T)()<  young  sir;  your  reputation  shall  not  therefore 
be  misprised :  we  will  make  it  our  suit  to  the  Duke,  that 
the  wrestling  might  not  go  forward. 

Orl.  I  beseech  you,  punish  me  not  with  your  hard 
thoughts;  wherein,  T  confess  me  much  guilty,  to  deny  so 
fair  and  excellent  ladies  anything.  But  let  your  fair  eyes 
and  gentle  wishes  go  with  me  to  my  trial;  wherein  if  I 
be  foiled,  there  is  but  one  shamed,  that  never  was  gracious; 
if  killed,  but  one  dead,  that  is  willing  to  be  so:  I  shall  do 
my  friends  no  wrong,  for  I  have  none  to  lament  me — the 
world  no  injury,  for  in  it  I  have  nothing;  only  in  the 
world  I  fill  up  a  place,  which  may  be  better  supplied,  when 
I  have  made  it  empty. 

Ros.  The  little  strength  that  I  have,  I  would  it  were 
with  you! 

Cel.     And  mine,  to  eke  out  hers. 

Ros.  Fare  you  well!  Pray  Heaven,  I  be  deceived  in 
you ! 

Cel.     Yrour  heart's  desires  be  with  yon! 

Chas.  Come,  where  is  this  young  gallant,  that  is  so  de- 
sirous to  lie  with  his  mother  earth? 

Orl.  Ready,  sir;  but  his  will  hath  in  it  a  more  modest 
wrorking. 

Duke.     You  shall  try  but  one  fall. 

Chas.  Xo,  I  warrant  your  grace:  you  shall  not  entreat 
him  to  a  second,  that  have  so  mightily  persuaded  him  from 
a  first. 

Orl.  You  mean  to  mock  me  after;  you  should  not  have 
mocked  me  before;  but  come  your  ways. 

[Flourish  of  Trumpets  and  Drums  while  they  wrestle, 
Charles  is  thrown.'] 

Puke.     [Advancing,  c.]     No  more,  no  more, 


12  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

Orl.      [a]      Yes,   I   beseech   your   grace;    I    am   not    well 
breathed. 

Duke.     How  dost  thou,  Charles? 

Touch.     He  cannot  speak,  my  lord. 

Duke.     Bear  him  away. — What  is  thy  name,  young  man? 

Orl.     Orlando,  my  liege:   the  youngest  son  of   Sir  Row- 
land  de  Bois. 

Duke.     I  would  thou  hadst  been  son  to  some  man  else! 
The  world  esteemed  thy  father  honourable, 
But  I  did  find  him  still. mine  enemy: 
I  would  thou  hadst  told  me  of  another  father! 

[Rosalind    and    Celia   stand,   R.—Exit   Duke,    with    his 
Train,  l.] 

Orl.     I  am  more  proud  to  be  Sir  Rowland's  son, 
His  youngest  son; — and  would  not  change  that  calling, 
To  be  adopted  heir  to  Frederick.  [Retires  back,  l.  c] 

Cel.     Were  I  my  father,  coz,  would  I  do  this  t 

Ros.     My  father  loved  Sir  Rowland  as  his  soul, 
And   all   the   world   was   of   my   father's   mind: 
Had  I  before  known  this  young  man  his  son, 
I  should  have  given   tears  unto  entreaties. 
Ere   he   should   thus   have   ventured. 

Cel.     Gentle  cousin, 
Let  us  go  thank  him,  and  encourage  him; 
My  father's  rough  and  envious  disposition 
Sticks    me    at    heart. — Sir,    [Orlando    advances.']    you    have 

well  deserved: 
If  you  do  keep  your  promises  in  love, 
But  justly  as  you  have  exceeded  promise, 
Your  mistress  shall  be  happy. 

Ros.     Gentleman,  [Giving  him  a  chain  from  her  neck.] 
Wear  this  for  me;   one  out  of  suits  with  fortune; 
That  could  give  more,  but  that  her  hand  lacks  means. 
Shall  we  go,  coz?  r> 

Gel.     Ay: — Fare   you   well,   fair   gentleman!  [Going.']  /-* 

Orl.     Can  I  not  say,  I  thank  you?     My  better  parts 
Are  all  thrown  down;  and  that,  which  here  stands  up, 
Is   but  a   quintaine,  a   mere,  lifeless  block. 

Ros.     [Going,  r.]     He  calls  us  back.  [Stops.]     My  pride 
fell  with  my  fortunes; 
I'll   ask  him  what  he  would.     [Returning.]     Did  you  call, 
sir? 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  18 

Sir,  you  have  wrestled  well,  and  overthrown 
More  than  your  enemies. 
,  Cel.     [r.  s.  e.]     Will  you  go,  coz? 

Ros.     [r.]     Have  with  you. — Fare  you  well! 

[Exeunt  Rosalind  and  Celia,  r.] 

Orl.     [Advances,  c]     What  passion  hangs  these  weights 
upon  my  tongue! 
I  cannot  speak  to  her,  yet  she  urged  conference. 
Oh,  poor   Orlando!   thou  art   overthrown; 
Or   Charles,   or   something   weaker,    masters   thee. 
[Enter  Le  Beau,  L.] 

Le  Beau,     [l.]     Good  sir,  I  do  in  friendship  counsel  you 
To  leave  this  place.     Albeit  you  have  deserved 
High -commendation,   true   applause,    and   love; 
Yet,  such   is  now  the  duke's   condition, 
That  he  misconstrues  all  that  you  have  done. 
The  duke  is  humorous;  what  he  is,  indeed, 
More  suits  you  to  conceive,  than  me  to  speak  of. 

Orl.     [r.  c]     I  thank  you,  sir;  and  pray  you,  tell  me  this; 
Which  of  the  two  was  daughter  of  the  duke, 
That  here  was  at  the  wrestling? 

Le  Beau.     Neither   his   daughter,   if   we   judge   by   man- 
ners: 
But  yet,  indeed,  the  shorter  is  his  daughter: 
The  other  is  daughter  to  the  banished  duke, 
And  here  detained  by  her  usurping  uncle, 
To  keep  his  daughter's  company;  whose  loves 
Are  dearer  than  the  natural  bond  of  sisters. 
But  I  can  tell  you,  that,  of  late,  this  duke 
Hath  ta'en  displeasure  'gainst  his  gentle  niece; 
Grounded  upon  no  other  argument 
But  that  the  people  praise  her  for  her  virtues, 
And  pity  her  for  her  gdod  father's  sake; 
And,  on  my  life,  his  malice  'gainst  the  lady 
Will  suddenly  break  forth. — Sir,  fare  you  well! 
Hereafter,  in  a  better  world  than  this, 
I  shall  desire  more  love  and  knowledge  of  you. 

Orl.     I  rest  much  bounden  to  you ;  fare  you  well ! 

[Exit  ^e  Beau,  l.] 
Thus  must  I,  from  the  smoke  into  the  smother; 
From  tyrant  duke,  unto  a  tyrant  brother: 
But   heavenly   "Rosalind!  [Exit,    L.] 


14  AS    YOU    LIKE    if. 

Scene  IV. — An  Apartment  in  the  palace. 
[Enter  Celia  and  Rosalind,  Rt] 

Cel.  [r.  c.]  Why,  cousin;  why,  Kosalind;  Cupid  have 
mercy ! — Not  a  word  i 

Ros.     [L#  c.^j     Not  one,  to  throw  at  a  dog. 

Cel.  No,  thy  words  are  too  precious  to  be  cast  away 
upon  curs;  throw  some  of  them  at  me. — But  is  all  this  for 
your  father? 

Ros.  No,  some  of  it  is  for  my  father's  child.  Oh,  how 
full  of  briars  is  this  working-day  world! 

Cel.  They  are  but  burrs,  cousin,  thrown  upon  thee  in  hol- 
iday foolery;  if  we  walk  not  in  the  trodden  paths,  our  very 
petticoats  will   catch   them. 

Ros.  I  could  shako  them  off  my  coat:  .these  burrs  are 
in  my  heart. 

Cel.     Hem  them  away. 

Ros.     1  would  try,  if  I  could  cry  hem,  and  have  him. 

Cel.     Come,  come,  wrestle  with  thy  affections. 

Ros.  Oh,  they  take  the  part  of  a  better  wrestler  than 
myself.  {Crosses,   r.] 

Cel.  [l.]  Oh,  a  good  wish  upon  you! — But  turning  these 
jests  out  of  service,  let  us-  talk  in  good  earnest;  is  it  pos- 
sible, on  such  a  sudden,  you  should  fall  into  so  strong  a 
liking  for  old   Sir  Rowland's  youngest  son  \ 

Ros.     The  duke,  my  father,  loved  his  father  dearly. 

Cel.  Doth  it  therefore  ensue,  that  you  should  love  his 
son  dearly?  By  this  kind  of  chase,  I  should  hate  him,  for 
my  father  hated  his  father  dearly;  yet  I  hate  not  Orlando. 

Ros.     No,  'faith,  hate  him  not,  for  my  sake. 

Cel.     Why  should  I?  doth  he  not  deserve  well? 

Ros.  Let  me  love  him  for  that :  and  do  you  love  him, 
because  I  do. 

Cel.  Ha!  here  comes  the  duke,  with  his  eyes  full  of 
anger.  |  Crosses  to  Rosalind.] 

[Enter    Duke     Frederick,      Eustace,     Louis,     and     Gentle- 
men,  l.1 


Duke.     [(  .]      Mistress,    despatch    you    with    your    safest 
haste, 
And  get  you  from  our  court! 


AS     YOU    LIKE    IT.  15 

Ros.     Me,  uncle! 

Duke.      You,    cousin: 
Within  those  ten  days,  if  that  thou  be'st  found 
So  near  our  public  court  as  twenty  miles, 
Thou  diest  for  it! 

Ros.     [Advances  and  kneels.]     I  do  beseech  your  grace, 
Let  me  the  knowledge  of  my  fault  bear  with  me! 
If  with  myself  I  hold  intelligence, 
Or  have  acquaintance  with  my  own  desires; 
If  that  I  do  not  dream,  or  be  not  frantic, 
(  As  I  do  trust  I  am  not,)  then,  dear  uncle, 
Never,  so  much  as  in  a   thought  unborn. 
Did  I  offend  your  highness. 

Duke.     Thus   do    all   traitors ; 
If  their  purgation  did   consist   in   words, 
They  are  as  innocent  as  grace  itself: — 
Let  it  suffice  thee,  that  I  trust  thee  not. 

Ros.     Yet  your  mistrust   cannot  make   me   a   traitor: 
Tell  me  whereon  the  likelihood  depends. 

Duke.     [l.   c]      Thou   art   thy   father's   daughter,   there's 
enough. 

Hos.     [Rising."]     So  was  I,  when  your  highness  took  his 
dukedom : 
So  was  I,  when  your  highness  banished  him. 
Treason    is   not   inherited,   my   lord, — 
Or,   if  we  did   derive  it  from   our  friends, 
What's  that  to  me?  my  father  was  no  traitor: 
Then,  good  my  liege,  mistake  me  not  so  much, 
To  think  my  poverty  is  treacherous. 

Cel.     Dear   sovereign,   hear   me   speak ! 

[Advances  to  Duke.] 

Duke.     Ay,   Celia;  we  but  stayed  her   for  your  sake; 
Else  had  she  with  her  father  ranged  along. 

Cel.     I  did  not  then  entreat  to  have  her  stay, — 
It  was  your  pleasure,  and  your  own  remorse. 
If  she  be  a  traitor, 

Why,  so  am  I;  we  still  have  slept  together, 
Rose  at   an  instant,  learned,  played,  eat  together: 
And,   wheresoe'er  we  went,  like  Juno's  swans, 
Still  we  went  eouplod,  and  'inseparable, 

Duke.     R]10  is  too  subtle  for  thee;  and  her  smoothness, 
Her    very   silence,    and    her   patience, 
Speak   to  the  people,  and  they  pity  her: 


16  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

Then  open  not  thy  lips; 

Firm,  and  irrevocable,  in  my  doom 

Which  I  have  passed  upon  her — she  is  banished. 

Cel.     Pronounce    that    sentence,   then,   on   me,   my   liege; 
I  cannot  live  out  of  her  company. 

Duke.     You  are  a  fool! — You,  niece,  provide  yourself: 
If  you  outstay  the  time,  upon  mine  honour, 
And  in  the  greatness  of  my  word,  you  die! 

[Exeunt  Duke,  etc.,  L.] 

Cel.     [r.]     Oh,  my  poor  Rosalind !  whither  wilt  thou  go ! 
Wilt  thou  change  fathers? — I  will  give  thee  mine. 
I  charge  thee,  be  not  thou  more  grieved  than  I  am. 

Ros.     [r.]     I  have  more  cause. 

Cel.     Thou  hast  not,  cousin; 
Pr'ythee,  be   cheerful:   know'st   thou  not,  the  duke 
Hath  banished  me,  his  daughter? 

Ros.     That  he  hath  not. 

Cel.     No!  hath  not?     Rosalind  lacks  then  the  love 
Which   teacheth   me,  that  thou  and   I   are  one. 
Shall  weloe  sundered?  shall  we  part,  sweet  girl? 
No!  let  my  father  seek  another  heir. 
Therefore  devise  with  me,  how  we  may  fly, 
Whither  go,  and  what  to  bear  with  us; 
For,  by  this  heaven,  now  at  our  sorrows  pale, 
Say  what  can'st,  I'll  go  along  with  thee! 

Ros.     Why,  whither  shall  we  go?  [Crossing,  l.] 

Cel.     To  seek  my  uncle,  in  the  forest  of  Arden. 

Ros.     Alas,  what  danger  will  it  be  to  us, 
Maids  as  we  are,  to  travel  forth  so  far! 
Beauty  provoketh  thieves,  sooner  than  gold. 

Cel.     I'll  put  myself  in  poor  and  mean  attire: 
The  like  do  you;  so  shall  we  pass  along, 
And  never  stir  assailants. 

Ros.    Were  it  not  better, 
Because  that  I  am  more  than  common  tall, 
That  I  did  suit  me  all  points  like  a  man? 
A  gallant  curtle-axe  by  my  side, 
A  boar-spear  in  n».\   hand;  and  (in  my  heart, 
Lie  there  what  hidden  woman's  fear  there  will,) 
We'll  have  a  swashing  and  0  martial  outside, 
As  many  other  mannish  oowarda  have, 
Tluit  do  outface  it  with  their  semblances,  <s 

cai.    [1..1    Wh:it  ihall  I  call  thee,  when  thou  ad  toanl 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  17 

Ros.     I'll  have  no  worse  a  name  than  Jove's  own  page; 
And,  therefore,  look  you  call  me  Ganymede. 
But  what  will  you  be  called? 

Cel.     Something  that  hath  a  reference  to  my  state; 
No  longer  Celia,  but  Aliena. 

Ros.     But,  cousin,   what  if  we  essayed  to  steal 
The  clownish  fool  out  of  your  father's  court? 
Would  he  not  be  a  comfort  to  our  travel? 

Cel.     He'll  go  along  o'er  the  wide  world  with  me: 
Leave  me  alone  to  woo  him:  Let's  away,  [Crosses,  R.] 

And  get  our  jewels  and  our  wealth  together; 
Devise  the  fittest  time,  and  safest  way 
To  hide  us  from  pursuit,  that  will  be  made 
After  my  flight. 

Ros.     Now  go  we  in  content, 
To  liberty,  and  not  to  banishment,  [Exeunt,  R.] 

END  OF   ACT   I. 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I. — Oliver's  House. 
[Enter  Orlando,  r. — Enochs  at  the  Door,  l.] 

Orl.     Who's  there? 

[Enter  Adam,  from  Olivers  House.] 

Adam,     [l.]     What!  my  young  master? — Oh,  my  gentle 
master! 
Oh,  my  sweet  master !    Oh !  you  memory 
Of  old  Sir  Rowland!  why,  what  make  you  here? 
Why  are  you  virtuous?    Why  do  people  love  you? 
And  wherefore  are  you  gentle,   strong,  and  valiant? 
Why  would  you  be  so  fond  to   overcome 
The   bony   priser   of    the   humorous   duke? 
Your  praise  is  come  too  swiftly  home  before  you. 
Know  you  not,  master,  to  some  kind  of  men, 
Their  graces  serve  them  but  as  enemies? 
No  more   do  yours:   your  virtues,  gentle  master, 
Are  sanctified  and  holy  traitors  to  you. 
Oh,  what  a  world  is  this,  when,  what  is  comely, 
Envenoms  him  that  bears  it! 

Orl.   [r.  c.]    Why,  what's  the  matter? 


lg  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

Adam.     Oh,  unhappy  youth! 
Come  not  within  these  doors;  within  this  roof 
The  enemy  of  all  your  graces  lives: 

Your  brother  [Comes  out  of  the  House.) 

Hath  heard  your  praises;  and,  this  night,  he  means 
To  burn  the  lodging  where  you  use  to  lie, 
And  you  within  it;  if  he  fail  of  that, 
He  will  have  other  means  to  cut  you  off: 
I   overheard   him,   and   his   practises. 
This  is  no  place — this  house  is  but  a  butchery; 
Abhor  it,  fear  it,  do  not  enter  it. 

Orl.     Why,  whither,  Adam,  would'st  thou  have  me  go? 

Adam.     [l.  c.]  No  matter  whither,  so  you  come  not  here. 

Orl.     Why,  would'st  thou  have  me  go  and  beg  my  food ! 
Or,  with  a  base  and  boisterous  sword,  enforce 
A  thievish  living  on  the  common  road  ( 
This  I  must  do,  or  know  not  what  to  do:  [Goes,  r.] 

Yet  this  I  will  not  do,  do  how  I  can;  [Returns  to  c] 

I  rather  will  subject  me  to  the  malice 
Of  a  diverted  blood,  and  bloody  brother. 

Adam.     But  do  not  so;  I  have  five  hundred  crowns — 
The  thrifty  hire  I  saved  under  your  father — 
Which  I  did  store,  to  be  my  foster-nurse 
When  service   should   in  my  old   limbs   lie  lame 
And    unregarded   age  in   corners   thrown: 
Take  that;  and  He  that  doth  the  ravens  feed, 
Yea,  providently  caters  for  the  sparrow, 
Be  comfort  to  my  age!     Here  is  the  gold: — 
All  this  I  give  you.     Let  me  be  your  servant: 
Though  I  look  old,  yet  I  am  strong  and  lusty; 
For,  in  my  youth,  I  never  did  apply 
Hot  and  rebellious  liquors  in  my  blood; 
Nor  did  not,  with  unbashful  forehead,  woo 
The  means  of  weakness  and  debility; 
Therefore,  my  age  is  as  a  lusty  winter, 
Frosty,  but  kindly; — let  me  go  with  you; 
I'll  do  the  service  of  a  younger  man, 
In    all  your  business    and    necessities. 

Orl.     Oh,  good  old  man !  how  well   in  thee  appears 
The  constant  service  of  the  antique  world, 
When   service  BWeal    for  duly,  no»   for  meed  I 
Thou  art  not  for  the  fashion  of  these  times, 
Where  none  will  sweat   but    for  promotion, 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  1<) 

And  having  that,  do  cloak  their  service  up 

Even  with  the  having:  it  is  not  so  with  thee. 

But,  poor  old  man,  thou  prun'st  a  rotten  tree. 

Thai   cannot  so  much  as  a  blossom  yield, 

In  lieu  of  all  thy  pains  and  husbandry. 

But  come  thy  ways,  we'll  go  along  together;       [Going,  R.] 

And,  ere  we  have  thy  youthful   wages  spent, 

We'll  light   upon  some  settled,  low  content.  [Exit,  R.  | 

Adam.     Master,  go  on;   and  I  will  follow  thee, 
To  the  last  gasp,  with  truth  and  loyalty. 

[Slowly  following,"] 
From  seventeen   years   till  now,  almost  fourscore,. 
l!<re  lived  I,  but  now  live  here  no  more. 
At  seventeen  years  many  their  fortunes  seek; 
Hut  at  fourscore  it  is  too  late  a  week: 
Yet  fortune  cannot  recompense  me  better. 
Than  to  die  well,  and  not  my  master's  debtor.     [Exit,  R.] 

Scene  II. — The  Forest  of  Arden. 

[Enter  Duke   Senior,   Amiens,   Jaques,    and   two   or   three 

Lords,   like  Foresters.  L.] 

Duke.      [c.~]     Now,  my  co-mates,  and  brothers   in  exile, 
Hath  not  old  custom  made  this  life  more  sweet 
Than  that  of  painted  pomp?     Are  not  these  woods 
More  free  from  peril   than  the  envious  court  \ 
Here  feel  we  hut  the  penalty  of  Adam — 
The  seasons'   difference;   as,  the  icy  fang 
And  churlish  chiding  of  the  winter's  wind; 
Which,  when  it  bites,  and  blows  upon  my  body, 
Even  till  I  shrink  with  cold,  I  smile  and  say, 
This  is  no  flattery:   these  are  counsellors, 
That  feelingly  persuade  me  what  I  am. 
Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity; 
Which,   like   the   toad,  ugly,   and   venomous, 
Wears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head ! 
And  this  our  life,  exempt  from  public  haunt, 
Finds  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks, 
Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  everything. 
I  would  not  change  it. 

Amiens,      [r1     Happy    is   your   grace. 
That  can  translate  the  stubbornness  of  fortune 
Into  so  quiet,  and  so  sweet  a  style. 

Duke.     Come,  shall  we  go  and  kill  us  venison: 


2fl    '  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  . 

And  yet  it  irks  me,  the  poor  dappled  fools, 
Being  native  burghers  of  this  desert  city, 
Should,   in   their  own  confines,  with  forked  heads 
Have  their  round  haunches  gored. 

Jaques.     [l.]  *  Indeed,    my   lord, 
I  have  often  grieved  at  that; 
And,  in  that  kind,  think  you  do  more  usurp 
Than  doth  your  brother,  that  hath  banished  you. 
To-day,  my  Lord  of  Amiens   and  myself 
Did  steal 

Dehind  an  oak,  whose  antique  root  peeps  out 
Upon  the  brook  that  brawls  along  this  wood; 
To  which  place  a  poor  sequestered  stag, 
That  from  the  hunter's  aim  had  ta'en  a  hurt, 
Did  come  to  languish;   and,  indeed,  my  lord, 
The  wretched  animal  heaved   forth  such  groans, 
That  their  discharge  did  stretch  his  leathern  coat 
Almost  to  bursting;  and  the  big  round  tears 
Coursed  one  another  down  his  innocent  nose, 
In  piteous  chase;  and  thus  the  hairy  fool 
Stood  on  the  extremest   verge  of  the  swift  brook, 
Augmenting  it  with  tears. 

Duke.     But  what  said  you?— 
Did  you  not  moralize  this  spectacle? 

Jaques.     Oh,  yes,   into  a   thousand  similies. 
First,  for  his  weeping  in  the  needless  stream: 
Poor  deer,  quoth  I,  thou  makest  a  testament 
As  the  worldlings  d<>,  giving  thy  sum  of  more 
To  that  which  had  too  much. — Then  being  alone, 
Left  and  abandoned  of  his  velvet  friends; 
'Tis  right,  quoth  T;  thus  misery  doth  part 
The  flux   of  company: — Anon,   a   careless  herd. 
Full  of  the  pasture,  jumps  along  by  him, 
And  never  stays  to  greet  him; — Ay,  quoth  T, 
Sweep    on,    you    fat    and    greasy    citizens: 
'Tis  just  the  fashion;  wherefore  do  you  look 
TTpon  that  poor  and  broken  bankrupt  there! 

Thus  pierced  T  through 

The  body  of  the  country,  city,  court, 

Tea  and  of  this  our  life;  for  we,  my  lord, 

Are  mere  usurpers,  tyrants,  and  what's  worse, 

To  fright  the  animals,  and  to  kill  them  up, 

It    their  assigned  and  native  dwelling-place. 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  21 

Duke.     Show  me  the  place; 
I  love  to  cope  you  in  these  sullen  fits, 
For  then  you're  full  of  matter. 

Jaques.     I'll  bring  you  to  it  straight.  [Exeunt,  L.] 

Scene  III. — A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

[Enter     Duke     Frederick,      Eustace,     Louis,     and     Gentle- 
men,  R. 

Duke,     [c.]    Can  it  be  possible,  that  no  man  saw  them? 
It   cannot   be;   some   villains   of   my  court 
Are  of  consent  and  sufferance  in  this. 

1st     Gent,     [k.]     I  cannot  hear  of  any  that  did  see  her. 
The  ladies,  her  attendants  of  the  chamber, 
Saw   her   a-bed;    and   in   the   morning   early, 
They  found  the  bed  untreasured  of  their  mistress. 

2d  Gent,    [l.]    My  lord,  the  roynish   clown,   at  whom  so 
oft 
Your  grace  was  wont  to  laugh,  is  also  missing. 
Hesperia,  the  princess'  gentlewoman, 
Confesses  that  she  secretly  o'erheard 
Your  daughter,  and  her  cousin,  much  commend 
The  parts  and  graces  of  the  wrestler 
That  did  but  lately  foil  the  sinewy  Charles; 
And  she  believes,  wherever  they  are  gone, 
That  youth   is   surely  in   their  company. 

Duke.     Send   to   his   brother:    fetch   that  gallant   hither; 

[Exit  2d  Gent.,   L.] 
I'll  make  him  find  him — do  this  suddenly; 
And  let  not  search  and  inquisition  quail, 
To    bring    again    those    foolish    runaways.  [Exeunt    R.] 

Scene  IV.— The  Forest, 

[Enter  Jaques,  Amiens,  and  three  other  Lords,  L>] 

Jaques.     [c]     More,  more;  I  pr'ythee,  more. 

Amiens.     [L."|  it  w\\\  make  you  melancholy,  Jaques. 

Jaques.     I  thank  it;  I  do  love  it  better  than  laughing. 

Amiens.  Those  that  are  in  the  extremity  of  either,  are 
abominable  fellows,  and  betray  themselves  to  every  modern 
censure,  worse  than  drunkards. 


22  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

Jaques.  I  have  neither  the  scholar's  melancholy,  which. is 
emulation;  nor  ti.e  musician's,  which  is  fantastical;  nor  the 
courtier's,  which  is  proud;  nor  the  soldier's,  which  is  ambiti- 
ous; nor  the  lawyer's,  which  is  politic;  nor  the  lady's,  which 
is  nice;  nor  the  lover's,  which  is  all  these;  but  it  is  a  melan- 
choly of,  mine  own,  compounded  of  many  simples,  extracted 
from  many  objects;  and,  indeed,  the  sundry  contempla- 
tion of  my  travels,  in  which  my  after  rumination  wraps 
me  is^  a  most  humorous  sadness. — Sing,  I  pr'ythee,  sing. 

Amiens.  My  voice  is  rugged:  I  know  I  cannot  please 
you. 

Jaques.  I  Jo  not  desire  you  to  please  me,  I  desire  you  to 
sing. — f  can  suck  melancholy  out  of  a  song,  as  a  weasel  can 
suck  eggs.     Come,  warble,  warble. 

SONG.— Amiens. 

Under    the*  greenwood    tree, 

Who  loves   to  lie  with  me, 

And   tune   his  merry  note 

Unto   the  sweet   bird's    throat. 
Come  hither,   come   hither,  come  hither. 

Here  shall  ye  see 

No  enemy, 
But   winter   and   rough    weather. 

Who    doth    ambition    shun. 

And  loves  to  live  i'  the  sun, 

Seeking    the    food    he    eats, 

And   pleased   with  what  he  gets. 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither. 

Here  shall  he  see 

\o  enemy, 
I  Jut   winter   and   rough  weather. 

Jaques.  ni  g0  sleep  if  I  can;  if  I  cannot,  I'll  rail  against 
all   the  first  1  orn  of   Egypt.  [Exit,  l.  |, 

Amiens.  And  we'll  go  seek  the  Duke;  his  banquet  is  p-c- 
pared.  '  [Exeunt,    R.] 

Scene   V. — The  Forest   of  Arden. 

[Enter  Rosalind,   /„   Boy's   Clothes,   for  Ganymede,  (Vim. 

dressed  like  a  Shepherdess,  and  Touchstone,   i,.   v.  r.  j 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  23 

Ros.     [r.  c]     Oh,  Jupiter!  how  weary  are  my  spirits! 

Touch,  [c]  I  care  not  for  my  spirits,  if  my  legs  were 
not  weary. 

Ros.  I  could  find  in  my  heart  to  disgrace  my  man's  ap- 
parel, and  cry  like  a  woman:  but  I  must  comfort  the  weaker 
vessel,  as  doublet  and  hose  ought  to  show  .itself  courageous 
to  petticoat ;  therefore,  courage,  good  Aliena. 

Cel.     [l.]     I  pray  you,  bear  with  me;  T  can  go  no  further. 

Touch.  For  my  part,  I  had  rather  bear  with  you,  than 
bear  you;  yet  T  should  bear  no  cross  if  I  did -bear  you; 
for  I  think  you  have  no  money  in  your  purse. 

Ros.     Well,  this  is  the  forest  of  Arden. 

Touch.  Ay,  now  I  am  in  Arden:  the  more  fool  I;  when 
I  was  at  home,  I  was  in  a  better  place;  but  travellers  must 
be  content. 

Ros.  Ay,  ^  be  so,  good  Touchstone. — Look  you,  who 
comes  here:  a  young  man  and  an  old  in  solemn  talk. 

[All  three  retire  up  the  h.  side  of  the  Stage. 

[Enter  Corin  and  Sylvius,   K.] 

Corin.  [l.  c.]  That  is  the  way  to  make  her  scorn  you 
still. 

Syl.  [r.  c]  Oh,  Corin,  that  thou  knevv'st  how  I  do  love 
her. 

Corin.     I  partly  guess;  for  I  have  loved  ere  now. 

Sylv.     \o,  Corin,  being  old,  thou  can'st  not  gue3s; 
Though  in  thy  youth  thou  wast  as  true  a  lover 
As  ever  sighed  upon  a  midnight  pillow; 
But  if  thy  life  were  ever  like  to  mine, 
(As  sure  I  think  did  never  man  love  so,) 
How  many  actions  most  ridiculous 
Hast  thou  been  drawn  to  by  thy  fantasy? 

Corin.     Into  a  thousand  that  I  have  forgotten. 

Sylv.     Oh,  thou  didst  then  never  love  so  heartily! 
If  thou  remember'st  not  the  slightest  folly 
That  ever  love  did  make  thee  run  into, 
Thou   hast   not  loved: 
Or  if  thou  hast  not  talked  as  I  do  now, 
Wearying  thy  hearer   in    thy  mistress'   praise, 
Thou  hast  not  loved : 

Or  if  thou  hast  not  broke  from  company, 
Abruptly   as   my   passion   now   makes   me, 


24  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

Thou  hast  not  loved. — Oh,  Phoebe,  Phoebe,  Phcebe! 

[Exeunt  Corin  and  Sylvius,  R.] 

Bos.  [l.]  Alas,  poor  shepherd!  searching  of  thy  wound, 
I  have  by  hard  adventure  found  mine  own. 

[All    three    advance.] 

Touch,  [c]  And  I  mine:  I  remember,  when  I  was  in 
love,  I  broke  my  sword  upon  a  stone,  and  bid  him  take  that 
for  coming  o'nights  to  Jane  Smile;  and  I  remember  the 
kissing  of  her  batlet,  and  the  cow's  dugs  that  her  pretty 
chopped  hands  had  milked;  and  I  remember  the  wooing  of 
a  peascod  instead  of  her,  from  whom  I  took  two  cods  and 
giving  them  her  again,  said  with  weeping  tears,  "  Wear 
these  for  my  sake."  We,  that  are  true  lovers,  run  into 
strange  capers;  but  as  all  is  mortal  in  nature,  so  is  all  na- 
ture in  love  mortal  in  folly. 

Bos.  [l.  c]  Thou  speak'st  wiser  than  thou  art  'ware  of. 
,  Touch.  Nay,  I  shall  ne'er  be  aN^vare  of  mine  own  wit 
'till  I  break  my  shins  against  it. 

Cel.     [r.  c.]     I  pray  you,  one  of  you  question  yon  man 
If  he  for  gold  will  give  us  any  food; 
I  faint  almost  to  death. 

Touch.     Holloa!    you    clown! 

Bos.     Peace,  fool!  he's  not  thy  kinsman. 

[Enter  Corin,  R.] 

Corin.      [R.]      Who   calls? 

Touch,     [l.]  Your  betters,  sir. 

.Corin.  Else  they  are  very  wretched. 

Bos.     Peace,  I  say:  Good  even  to  you,  friend. 

Corin.     And  to  you,  gentle  sir,  and  to  you  all. 

[Touchstone   retires   to   Celia,   r.] 

Bos.     [c.]     I  pr'ythee,  shepherd,  if  that  love,  or  gold, 
Can  in  this  desert  place  buy  entertainment, 
Bring  us  where  we  may  rest  ourselves,  and  feed : 
Here's   a  young  maid;  with  travel  much   oppressed, 
And  faints  for  succour. 

Corin.      |"r.]   Fair  sir,  I  pity  her. 
And  wish  for  her  sake  more  than  for  mine  own, 
My  fortunes  were  more  able  to  relieve  her: 
But  I  am  shepherd  to  another  man, 
And  do  not  shear  the  fleeces  that  I  graze; 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  ..    25 

My  master  is  of  churlish  disposition. 
And  little  recks  to  find  the  way  to  heaven 
By  doing  deeds  of  hospitality: 
Besides,  his  cote,  his  flocks,  and  bounds  of  feed, 
Are  now  on  sale,   and  at  our  sheep-cote  now, 
By  reason  of  his  absence,  there  is  nothing 
That  you  will  feed  on;  but  what  is,  come  see, 
And  in  my  voice  most  welcome  shall  you  be. 

Bos.     What  is  he,  that  shall  buy  his  flock  and  pasture  I 

Corin.     That   young  swain,   that   you   saw   here  but   ere 
while, 
That   little  cares  for  buying  anything. 

Ros.  I  pray  thee,  if  it  stand  with  honesty, 
Buy  thou  the  cottage,  pasture,  and  the?  flock, 
And  thou  shalt   have  to  pay  for  it  of  us. 

Corin.     Assuredly  the  thing  is  to  be  sold: 
Go  with  me;  if  you  like  upon  report, 
The  soil,'  the  profit,  and  this  kind  of  life, 
I  will  your  very  faithful  feeder  be, 
And  buy  it  with  your  gold  right  suddenly.       [Exeunt,  r.] 

Scene  VI. — Another  part  of  the  Forest. 
[Enter  Orlando  and  Adam,   L.] 

Adam,  [l.]  Dear  master,  I  can  go  no  further:  oh,  I  d'e 
for  food!  Here  lie  I  down,  and  measure  out  my  grave. 
Farewell,  kind  master. 

Orl.  Why,  how  now,  Adam!  no  greater  heart  in  thee? 
Live  a  little;  comfort  a  little;  cheer  thyself  a  little:  if 
this  uncouth  forest,  yield  anything  savage,  I  will  either  be 
food  for  it,  or  bring  it  for  food  to  thee.  Thy  conceit  is 
nearer  death  than  any  powers.  For  my  sake  be  comfortable; 
hold  death  awhile  at  the  arm's  end:  I  will  ba  here  with  thee 
presently;  and  if  I  bring  thee  not  something  to  eat,  I'll  give 
thee  leave  to  die:  but  if  thou  diest  before  I  come,  thou  art 
a  mocker  of  my  labour.  Well  said!  thou  look'st  cheerily; 
and  I'll  be  with  thee  quickly.  Yet  thou  liest  in  the  bleak 
air:  come,  I  will  bear  thee  to  some  shelter;  [Lifting  him 
up.]  and  thou  shalt  not  die  for  leek  of  i  <Tnner,  if  there  live 
anything  in  this  desert.     Cheerily,  good  Adam! 

[Bearing  him  away,  l.,  scene  changes."] 


2(>  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

Scene  VII. — Another  part  of  the  Forest — A  Table  set  out. 
[Enter  Duke   Senior,   Amiens,    and   Lord,    R.] 

Duke,      [c]     I  think  he  is  transformed  into  a  beast, 
For  I  can  no  where  find  him  like  a  man. 

1st  Lord,     [r.]  ]\Iy  lord,  he  is  but  even  now  gone  hence; 
Here   was   he    merry   hearing   of    a    song. 

Duke.    If  he,  compact  of  jars,  grow  musical, 
We   shall   have   shortly  discord   in   the   spheres: — 
Go,  seek  him:  tell  him  I  would  speak  with  him. 

[Enter  Jaques,  L.] 

1st  Lord.     He  saves  my  labour  by  his  own  approach. 

Duke.     Why,  how  now,  monsieur!  what  a  life  is  this, 
That  your  poor  friends  must  woo  your  company? 
What,  you  look  merrily! 

Jaques.     [L.]      A   f ool !— I   met   a   fool   1    the   forest, 
A   motley   fool — a    miserable   world! — 
As  I  do  live  by  food,  I  met  a  fool: 
Who  laid  him  down  and  basked  him   in  tlU  sun, 
And  railed  on  lady  Fortune  in  good   terms, 
In  good  set  terms — and  yet  a  motley  fool. 
"  Good-morrow,  fool,"  quoth  I :  "  No,  sir,"  quoth  he, 
"Call  me  not  fool,  till  Heaven  hath  sent  me  fortune:" 
And  then  he  drew  a  dial  from  his  poke, 
And   looking    on    it   with   lack-lustre   eye, 
Says,  very  wisely,  u  It  is  ten   a'clock : 
Thus  may  we  see,"  quoth  he,   "how   the  world   wags: 
"Kb  but   an   hour   ago  since   it  was   nine; 
And   after  one  hour  more,   'twill   be   eleven; 
And  so,  from  hour  to  hour,  we  ripe,  and  ripe, 
And   then,  from  hour  to  hour,   we   rot,   and  rot, 
And   thereby  hangs   a   tale."     When    I    did   hear 
The  motley  fool  thus  moral   on   the  time, 
My  lungs  began   to  crow  like  chanticleer. 
That  fools  should  be  so  deep  contemplative; 
And    I    did    laugh,    sans    intermission, 
An  hour  by  his  dial. — Oh,  noble  fool! 
A   worthy    fool!      Motley's    the   only    wear. 

[All  retire  to  the  Table.] 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  27 

[Enter  Orlando,    ,,-////    his  Sword  drawn,  L.] 

Orl.      [l.]     Forbear,  and  eat  no  more! 

Jaques.     Why,    I    have   cat    none   yet. 

Oil.    Xor  sbalt  not,  till  necessity  be  served. 

Jaques.      Of   what    kind    should    this   cock   come    of? 

Duke.     [Coming  forward.]     Art  thou  thus  boldened,  man, 
by  thy  distress? 
Or  else  a  rude  despiset  of  good  manners, 
That    in  civility  thou  seem'st   so   empty? 

Orl-     You    touched    my    vein    at    first;    the    thorny    point 
Of  bare  distress  hath  ta'en  from  me  the  show 
Of  smooth  civility;  yet  am  I  inland  bred, 
And  know  some  nurture:  but  forbear,  I  say! 
He  dies  that  touches  any  of  this  fruit, 
Till    I    and    my   affairs    are    answered. 

Duke.      [r.  c.]   What  would  you  have?     Your  gentleness 
shall  force. 
More  than  your  force  move  us  to  gentleness. 

Orl.      [l.  (  .]   I  almost  die  for  food,  and  let  me  have  it. 

Duke.     Sit  down  and  feed,  and  welcome  to  our  table. 

Orl.     Speak  you  so  gentle?     Pardon  me,  I  pray  you; 
I  thought  that  all  things  had  been  savage  here; 
And  therefore  put  T  on  the  countenance 
Of  stern   commandment:    but   whate'er  you   are, 
That  in  this  desert  inaccessible, 
Under   the   shade   of   melancholy   boughs, 
Lose   and   neglect   the  creeping  hours  of  time: 
If  ever  you  have  looked  on  better  days : 
If  ever  been  where  bells  have  knolled  to  church; 
If  ever  sat  at  any  good  man's  feast; 
If  ever  from  your  eye-lids  wiped  a  tear, 
And  know  what  'tis  to  pity  and  be  pitied; 
Let    gentleness    my    strong    enforcement    be: 
In  the  which  hope,  I  blush,  and  hide  my  sword. 

Duke.      True  is  it,  that  we  have  seen  better  days, 
And  have  with  holy  bell  been  knolled  to  church; 
And   sat    at   good    men's  feasts;    and   wiped    our   eyes 
Of  drops  that  sacred  pity  had  engendered : 
And  therefore  sit  you  down  in  gentleness, 
And  take  upon  command  what  help  we  have, 
That  to  your   vvanting  may  be  ministered. 

Orl.     Then  forbear  your  food  a  little  while, 


28  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

Whiles,   like   a    doe,    I   go   to   find   my   fawn, 
And  gi\e  it  food.     There  is  an  old  poor  man, 
Who  after  me  hath  many  a  weary  step 
Limped  in  pure  love;  till  he  be  first  sufficed — 
Oppressed    with    two    weak    evils,    age    and   hunger — 
I  will  not  touch  a  bit. 

Duke.     Go  find  him  out, 
And   we   will   nothing   waste  till  you   return. 

Orl.    I  thank  ye ;  and  be  blessed  for  your  good  comfort ! 

[Exit,  l.] 

Duke,     [c]     Thou  see'st,  we  are  not  all  alone  unhappy; 
This  wide  and  universal  theatre 
Presents  more  woeful  pageants  than  the  scene 
Wherein  we  play  in. 

Jaques.     [L.  c]   All  the  world's  a  stage, 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players: 
They  have  their  exits  and  their  entrances; 
And  one  man  in  his  time  plays  many  parts, 
His  acts  being  seven  ages.    At  first,  the  infant, 
Mewling  and  puking  in  the  nurse's  arms; 
And  then,  the  whining  school-boy,  with  his  satchel, 
And  shining  morning  face,  creeping  like  snail 
Unwillingly   to   school;    And    then,    the   lover; 
Sighing    like    furnace,    with    woeful    ballad 
Made  to  his  mistress'  eye-brow:     Then,  a  soldier; 
Full  of  strange  oaths,  and  bearded  like  the  pard, 
Jealous  in  honour,  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel, 
Seeking   the   bubble   reputation 

Even  in  the  cannon's  mouth:     And  then,  the  justice; 
In  fair  round  belly,  with  good  capon  lined,* 
With  eyes  severe,  and  beard  of  formal  cut, 
Full. of  wise  saws  and  modern   instances, 
And  so  he  plays  his  part:     The  sixth  age  shifts 
Into  the  lean  and  slippered  pantaloon; 
With  spectacles  on  nose,  arid  pouch  on  side; 
II is  youthful   hose,  well  saved,  a   world  too  wide 
For  his  shrunk  shank;  and  his  big  manly  voice, 
Turning  again  toward  childish  treble,  pipes 
And   whistles  in  his  sound:  Last  scene  of  all, 
That  ends  this  strange  eventful  history. 
Is  second  childishness,  and  mere  oblivion; 
Sans  teeth,  sans  eyes,  sans  taste,  sans  everything. 

[AW retire  to  Table.} 


AS    YOU    LIKE    It.  29 

[Enter  Orlando  and  Adam,  L.] 

Duke.     Welcome:  set  down  your  venerable  burden, 
And   let  him  feed. 

Orl.     I  thank  you  most  for  him. 

Adam.     So  had  you  need; 
I   scarce  can   speak    to   thank   you   for  myself. 

Duke.     Welcome,  fall  to;   I   will  not  trouble  you, 
As  yet  to  question  you  about  your  fortunes:- — 
Give  us  some  music;  and,  good  cousin,  sing. 

[Amiens  advances,  c] 

SONG— Amiens. 

Blow,   blow,   thou   winter   wind, 
Thou  art  not  so  unkind 

As  man's  ingratitude; 
Thy  tooth  is   not  so  keen, 
Because  thou   art   not  seen, 

Although  thy  breath  be  rude. 

Freeze,    freeze,    thou    bitter    sky, 
That  dost  not  bite  so  nigh 

As    benefits    forgot : 
Though   thou    the    waters   wTarps 
Thy  sting  is  not  so  sharp 

As   friend   remembered    not. 

Duke.     [Comes  forward.']     If  that  you  were  the  good  Sir 
Rowland's   son — 
As  you  have  whispered  faithfully  you  were: 
And   as  mine  eye  doth  his   effigies   witness, 
Most  truly  limn'd,  and  living  in  your  fac< — 
Be   truly  welcome   hither;   I   am   the   duke, 
That  loved  your  father:   the  residue  of  your  fortune, 
Go  to  my  cave  and  tell  me. — Good  old  man, 
Thou  art  right  welcome,  as  thy  master  is: — 
Support  him  by  the  arm.- — Give  me  your  hand, 
And  let  me  all  your  fortunes  understand.  [Exeunt,  r.] 

END   OF   ACT   II. 


30  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

ACT  III. 
Scene  I.— The  Palace. 

{Enter  Duke   Frederick,    Eustace,   Louis,    Oliver,   aml  Gen- 
tlemen,  i,.] 

Duke,     [u.j  Xot  see  him  since?     Sir,  sir,  that  cannot  be; 
But  were  I  not  the  better  part  made  mercy, 
I    should  not  so  k  an  absent  argument 
Of  my  revenge,  thou  present:    But  look  to  it; 
Find  out  thy  brother,  whereso'er  he  is; 
luring  him,  dead   or  living, 

Within   this    twelvemonth,  or  turn    thou   no  more 
To   seek    a   living   in   our  territory. 
Thy  lands,  ami  all  things  that  thou  dost  call  thine, 
Worth   seizure,    do    we   seize    into    our   hands; 
Till  thou  canst  quit  thee,  by  thy  brother's  mouth, 
Of  what    we   think   against   thee. 

Oli-      |  L,  j      Oh,    that    your    highness    knew    my    heart,    in 
this! 
I  nevei'  loved  my  brother  in  my  life. 

Duke.     More  villain  thou!     Well,  push  him  out  of  doors, 
And  let  my  officers  of  such   a   nature 
Make  an  extent  upon  his  house  and  lands: 
Do  this  expediently,  and  turn  him  going. 

\Eveunt  Duke,  R.,  the  others  h.] 

SCENE  II.— The  Forest. 

[Enter  Orlando,  with  a  paper,  l.  v.  e.] 

Orl.     Hang  there,  my  verse,  in  witness  of  my   love, 
And    thou,    thrice-renowned    queen    of    night,    survey 
With   thy   chaste  eye,   from    thy   pa7e   sphere   above, 
Thy  huntress'  name,  thai  my  full  life  doth  sway. 
Oh,  Rosalind!  these  trees  shall  be  my  hooks, 
And   on    their  b:n-'<s   my    thoughts  Til   character: 
That    every    eye,    which    in    this    forest    looks, 
Shall  see  thy  virtue  witnessed  everywhere. 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  ;*! 

Run,  run,  Orlando;  carve  on  every   tree, 

The  fair,  the  chaste,  the  unexpressive  she.  [Exit,  r.] 

[Enter  Corin  and  Touchstone,  r.] 

Corin.  [r.]  And  how  like  you  this  shepherd's  life,  Mas- 
ter Touchstone? 

Touch,  [l.  c]  Truly,  shepherd,  in  respect  of  itself,  it  is 
a  good  life;  hut  in  respect  that  it  is  a  shepherd's  life,  it  is 
naught,  in  respect  that  it  is  solitary,  I  like  it  very  well; 
but  in  respect  that  it.  is  private,  it  is  a  very  vile  life.  Now 
in  respect  it  is  in  the  fields,  it  pleaseth  me  well;  but  in 
respect  it  is  not  in  the  court,  it  is  tedious.  As  it  is  a  spare 
life,  look  you,  it  fits  my  humour  well;  but  as  there  is  no 
more  plenty  in  it,  it  goes  much  against  my  stomach.  Hast 
any  philosophy  in  thee,  shepherd? 

Corin.  _\0  more,  hut  that  1  know,  the  more  one  sickens, 
the  worse  at  ease  he  is;  and  that  he  that  wants  money, 
tneans,  and  content,  is  without  three  good  friends: — That 
the  property  of  rain  is  to  wet,  and  fire  to  burn:  That  good 
pasture  makes  fat  sheep;  and  that  a  great  cause  of  the 
night  is  the  lack  of  the  sun:  That  he  that  hath  learned  no 
wit  by  nature  nor  art,  may  complain  of  good  breeding,  or 
comes  of  a   very  dull   kindred. 

Touch.  Such  a  one  is  a  natural  philosopher.  Wast 
ever  in   court,  shepherd? 

Corin.     Xo,  truly. 

Touch.      Then   thou   art  damned. 

Corin.  Nay,  I  hope- 
Touch.  Truly,  thou  art  damned;  like  an  ill-roasted  egg, 
all  on  one  side. 

Corin.     ]?or  not  being  at  court?     Your  reason. 

Touch.  Why,  if  thou  never  wast  at  court,  thou  never 
saw's!  good  manners:  if  thou  never  saw'st  good  manners, 
then  thy  manners  must  be  wicked;  and  wickedness  is  sin, 
and  sin  is  damnation;  Thou  art  in  a  parlous  state,  shep- 
herd. 

Corin.  Xot  a  whit,  Touchstone:  I  am  a  true  labourer;  I 
earn  that  I  eat,  get  that  I  wear;  owe  no  man  hate,  envy  no 
man's  happiness;  glad  of  other  men's  good,  content  with 
my  harm;  and  the  greatest  of  my  pride  is,  to  see  my  ewes 
graze,  and  my  lambs  suck. 

Touch.     That  is  another  simple  sin  in  you;  to  bring  the 


§2  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

ewes  and  rams  together,  and  to  offer  to  get  your  living  by 
the  copulation  of  cattle;  to  be  bawd  to  a  bell-weather;  and 
to  betray  a  she  lamb  of  a  twelvemonth  to  a  crooked-pated, 
old,  cuckoldly  ram,  out  of  all  reasonable  match.  If  thou 
Leest  not  damned  for  this,  the  devil  himself  will  have  no 
shepherds;  1  cannot  see  how  else  thou  should'st  'scape. 

Corin.      Here  comes  young  Mr.  Ganymede,  my  new  mis- 
tress's brother.  [They  retire,  l.] 

[Enter  Rosalind,  L.  u.  e.,  taking  a  Paper  from  a  Tree,  and 
reading.'] 

Ros.     From  the  east  to  the  western  Inde, 
No  jewel  is  like  Rosalind. 

[Touchstone  advances,  R.] 
Her  worth,  being  mounted  on  the  wind, 
Through  all  the  world  bears  Rosalind 
All  the  pictures,  fairest   limned, 
Are  but  black  to  Rosalind. 
Let  no  face  be  kept  in  mind, 
But  the  face  of  Rosalind. 
Touch.     [Crosses,  l.]      I'll   rhyme  you  so  eight  years  to- 
gether, dinners,  and   suppers,  and   sleeping  hours  excepted: 
it  is  the  right  butter-woman's  rate  to  market. 
Ros.     [r.]     Out,   fool! 
Touch.     For  a  taste:— 

If  a  hart  do  lack  a  hind, 

Let  him  seek  out  Rosalind. 

If  the  cat  will  after  kind, 

So,  be  sure,  will  Rosalind. 

Sweetest  nut  hath  sourest  rind, 

Such   a  nut   is  Rosalind. 

They  that  reap,  must  sheaf  and  bind; 

Then  to  cart  with  Rosalind. 

This  is  the  very  false  gallop  of  verses:  Why  do  you  infect 
yourself  with   them? 

Ros.     Peace,  you  dull  fool ;  I  found  them  on  a  tree. 

Touch.     Truly,  the  tree  yields  bad  fruit.  [Retires,  R.] 

[Enter  Celia,  wUh  a  writing,  R.] 

Ros.     Peace ! 
Here  comes  my  sister,  reading!  stand  aside!         [Retires,  r.] 


AS   YOU   LIKE    IT.  ;>;; 

Cel.     Why  should  this  a  desert  be? 

For    it    is    unpeopled  \      Xo; 
Tongues   I'll  hang  on  every  tree, 

That  shall  civil  sayings  show. 
Some,  how  brief  the  life  of  man 

Runs  his  erring  pilgrimage ; 
Thai  the  stretching  of  a  span 
Buckles  in  his  sum  of  age. 
Some,  of  violated  vows 

Twixt  the  souls  of  friend  and  friend; 
But  upon  the  faifest  boughs, 
Or  at  every  sentence  end, 
Will  I  Rosalinda  write; 

Teaching  all  that  read,  to  know 
This  quintessence  of  every  sprite 
Heaven  would  in  a  little  show. 
Therefore   Heaven  Nature  charged, 
That  one  body  should  be  filled 
With  all  graces  wide  enlarged: 

Nature   presently   distilled 
Helen's  check,  but  not  her  heart; 

Cleopatra's  majesty; 
Atalanta's  better  part; 

Sad  Lucretia's  modesty. 
Thus  Rosalind,  of  many  parts 
By  heavenly  synod  was  devised: 

[Rosalind  advances  behind  Celia.] 
Of  many  faces,  eyes,  and  hearts, 

To  have  the  touches  dearest  prized. 
Heaven  would  that  she  these  gifts  should  have, 
And  I  to  live  and  die  her  slave. 
Ros.     Oh,  most  gentle  Jupiter! — what  tedious  homily  of 
love  have  you   wearied  your  parishioners  withal,  and   never 
cried,  "  Have  patience,  good  people!  " 

Cel.  How  now!  back,  friends!  Shepherd,  go  off  a  little; 
— Go  with  him,  sirrah. 

Touch.  Come,  shepherd,  let  us  make  an  honorable  re- 
treat; though  not  with  bag  and  baggage,  yet  with  scrip  and 
serippage.    "  [Exeunt  Corin  and  Touchstone,  &.] 

Cel.     [l.  c]     Didst  thou   hear  these  verses? 
Ros.     |~r.  c.]     Oh,  yes,  I  heard  them  all,  and  more,  too; 
for  some  of  them  had  in  them  more  feet  than  the  verses 
would  bear. 


34  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

Cel.  But  didst  thou  hear,  without  wondering,  how  thy 
name  should  be  hanged  and  carved  upon  these  trees? 

Ros.  it  was  seven  of  the  nine  days  out  of  wonder,  be- 
fore you  came;  for  look  here,  what  I  found  on  a  palm- 
tree. 

Cel.     Trow  you  who  hath  done  this? 

Ros.     Is  it  a  man? 

Cel.  And  a  chain,  that  you  once  wore,  about  his  neck: 
change  you  colour  ? 

Ros.     I  pr'ythee,  who? 

Cel.  O  lord,  lord!  it  is  a  hard  matter  for  friends  to 
meet;  but  mountains  may  be  removed  with  earthquakes, 
and  so  encounter. 

Ros.  Nay,  who  is  it?  Nay,  I  pr'ythee  now,  with  most 
petitionary  vehemence,  tell  me  who  is  it? 

Cel.-  Oh,  wonderful,  wonderful,  and  most  wonderful, 
wonderful,  and  yet  again  wonderful,  and  after  that  out  of 
all  whooping! 

Ros.  Good  my  complexion!  dost  tnou  think,  though  I 
am  caparisoned  like  a  man,  I  have  a  doublet  and  hose  in 
my  disposition?  What  manner  of  man?  Is  his  head  worth 
a  hat,  or  chin  worth  a  beard? 

Cel.     Nay,  he  hath  but  little  beard. 

Ros.  Why,  God  will  send  more  if  the  man  will  be  thank- 
ful: lot  me  stay  the  growth  of  his  board,  if  thou  delay  me 
not  the  knowledge  of  his  chin. 

Cel.  It  is  young  Orlando,  that  tripped  u  >  the  wrestler's 
heels,  and  your  heart,  both  in  an  instant. 

Ros.     Nay,  but  the  devil  take  mocking. 

Cel.     I'faith,  coz,  'tis  he. 

Ros.     Orlando  ? 

Cel.     Orlando. 

Ros.  Alas  the  day!  what  shall  I  do  with  my  doublet 
&nd  hose?  What  did  he,  when  thou  saw'st  him?  What  said 
he  I  How  looked  he?  Wherein  wont  he?  What  makes  he 
here?  Did  he  ask  for  me?  Where  remains  he?  How  parted 
he  with  thee?  and  when  shalt  thou  see  him  again?  An- 
swer me  in  one  word. 

Cel.  Thou  must  borrow  me  Oargantua's  mouth  first: 
'tis  a  word  too  great  for  any  month  of  this  age's  size.  To 
say.  ay.  and  no,  to  these  particulars,  is  more  than  to  answer 
in  a  catechism'. 

Bos.     Bui   doth  he  know  that  T  am  in  this  forest  and  in 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  35 

man's  apparel?  Looks  he  as  freshly  as  he  did  the  day  he 
wrestled  ? 

Gel.  It  is  as  easy  to  count  atomies,  as  to  resolve  the  prop- 
ositions of  a  lover: — but  take  a  taste  of  my  finding  him, 
and  relish  it  with  good  observance.  I  found  him  under 
an  oak  tree,  like  a  dropped  acorn. 

Ros.  It  may  well  be  called  Jove's  tree  when  it  drops 
forth  such  fruit. 

Cel.  There  lay  he,  stretched  along,  like  a  wounded 
knight.    He  was  furnished  like  a  hunter. 

B-os.     Oh,  ominous!  he  comes  to  kill  my  heart. 

Cel.  I  would  sing  my  song  without  a  burden:  thou 
bringst  me  out  of  tune. 

R03.  Do  you  not  know  I  am  a  woman?  when  I  think, 
I  must  speak.     Sweet,  say  on. 

[Enter  Jaques  and  Orlando,  L.] 

Cel.     You  bring  me  out: — Soft,  comes  he  not  here? 

Ros.     'Tis  he:  slink  by  and  note  him. 

[Celia  and  Rosalind  retire  bach  on  R.] 

Jaques.  [r.  c.]  I  thank  you  for  your  company;  but, 
good  faith,  I  had  as  lief  have  been  myself  alone. 

Orl.  [L.  c]  And  so  had  I;  but  yet,  for  fashion  sake,  I 
thank  you  too  for  your  society. 

Jaques.  Heaven  be  with  you!  let's  meet  as  little  as  we 
can. 

Orl.    I  do  desire  we  may  be  better  strangers. 

Jaques.  I  pray  you,  mar  no  more  trees,  with  writing 
love-songs  on  their  barks. 

Orl.  1  pray  you,  mar  no  more  of  my  verses,  with  read- 
ing them  ill-favouredly. 

Jaques.    Rosalind  is  your  love's  name? 

Orl.    Yes,  just. 

Jaques.    I  do  not  like  her  name. 

Orl.  There  was  no  thought  of  pleasing  you,  when  she 
was  christened. 

Jaques.    What  stature  is  she  of? 

Orl.    Just  as  high  as  my  heart. 

Jaques.  You  are  full  of  pmtty  answers :  Have  you  not 
been  acquainted  with  goldsmiths'  wives,  and  conned  them 
out  of  rings?— Will  you  sit  down  with  me?  and  we  two 
will  rail  against  our  mistresses,  the  world,  and  all  our  mis- 
ery, 


;>(;  AS    Y'6U    LIKE    IT 

Orl.  I  will  chide  no  breather  in  the  world  but  myself, 
against  whom  1  know  most  faults. 

Jaques.     The  worst  fault  you  have  is,  to  be  in  love. 

Orl.  'Tis  a  fault  I  would  not  change  for  your  best  vir- 
tue.    I  am  weary  of  you. 

Jaques.  By  my  truth,  I  was  seeking  for  a  fool,  when  I 
found  you. 

Orl.  He  is  drowned  in  the  brook;  look  but  in,  and  you 
shall  see  him. 

Jaques.     There  I  shall  see  mine  own  figure. 

Orl.     Which  I  take  to  be  either  a  fool  or  a  cypher. 

Jaques.  I'll  tarry  no  longer  with  you:  farewell,  good 
Signior  Love!  [Exit  R.] 

Orl.  I'm  glad  of  your  departure;  adieu,  good  Mon- 
sieur Melancholy!  [Rosalind  comes  forward.] 

Ros.  I  wiH  speak  to  him  like  a  saucy  lacquey,  and  un- 
der that  habit  play  the  knave  with  him.  [r.  c]  Do  you 
hear,  forester? 

Orl.      [l.  c]   Very  well;  what  would  you? 

Ros.     I  pray  you,  what  is't  o'clock? 

Orl.  You.  should  ask  me,  what  time  o'day:  there's  no 
clock  in  the  forest. 

Ros.  Then  there  is  no  true  lover  in  the  forest;  else 
sighing  every  minute,  and  groaning  every  hour,  would  de- 
tect the  lazy  foot  of  time,  as  well  as  a  clock. 

Orl.  And  why  not  the  swift  foot  of  time?  had  not  that 
been  as  proper? 

Ros.  By  no  means,  sir:  Time  travels  in  divers  paces 
with  divers  persons;  I'll  tell  you  who  time  ambles  withal, 
who  time  trots  withal,  who  time  gallops  withal  and  who 
he   stands  still  withal. 

Orl.     I  pr'ythee  whom  doth  he  trot  withal  ? 

Ros.  Marry,  he  trots  hard  with  a  young  maid  between 
the  contract  of  her  marriage  and  the  day  it  is  solemnized. 
If  the  interim  be  but  a  se'nnight,  time's  pace  is  so  hard, 
that  it  seems  the  length  of  seven  years. 

Orl.     Who  ambles  time  withal? 

Ros.  With  a  priest  that  lacks  Latin,  and  a  rich  man  that 
hath  not  the  gout;  for  the  one  sleeps  easily  because  he 
cannot  study,  and  the  other  lives  merrily  because  he  feels  no 
pain.     These  time   ambles   withal. 

Orl.     Whom  dotli  he  gallop  withal? 


Ab    YOU    LIKE    IT.  37 

Ros.  With  a  thief  to  the  gallows;  for,  though  he  go  as 
softly  as  foot  can  fall,  he  thinks  himself  too  soon  there. 

Orl.     Who  stays  it  withal? 

Ros.  With  lawyers  in  the  vacation;  for  they  sleep  be- 
tween term  and  term,  and  then  they  perceive  not  how  time 
moves.  [Celia  advances.'] 

Orl.     Where    dwell    you,   pretty   youth? 

Ros.  With  this  shepherdess,  my  sister;  here,  in  the  skirts 
of  the  forest,  like  fringe  upon  a  petticoat. 

Orl.  Your  accent  is  something  finer  than  you  could  pur- 
ebase   in   so  removed  a  dwelling. 

Ros.  I  have  been  told  so  of  many;  but,  indeed,  an  old 
religious  uncle  of  mine  taught  me  to  speak,  who  was,  in 
his  youth,  an  inland  man;  one  that  knew,  courtship  too 
well,  for  there  he  fell  in  love.  I  have  heard  him  read  many 
lectures  against  it;  and  I  thank  heaven  I  am  not  a  woman 
to  be  touched  with  so  many  giddy  offences,  as  he  hath  gen- 
erally taxed  their  whole  sex  withal. 

Orl.  Can  you  remember  any  of  the  principal  evils  that 
lie  laid  to  the  charge  of  women? 

Ros.  They  were  none  principal ;  they  were  all  like  one 
another,  as  halfpence  are:  every  one  fault  seeming  mon- 
strous, till  his  fellow  fault  came  to  match  it. 

Orl.     I  pr'ythee,  recount  some  of  them. 

Ros.  Xo;  I  will  not  cast  away  my  physic  but  on  those 
that  are  sick.  [Celia  retires  up  the  stage.]  There  is  a  man 
haunts  the  forest  that  abuses  our  young  plants  with  carv- 
ing Rosalind  on  their  barks;  hangs  odes  upon  hawthorns, 
and  elegies  on  brambles;  all,  forsooth,  deifying  the  name 
of  Rosalind.  If  I  could  meet  that  fancy-monger,  I  would 
give  him  some  good  counsel,  for  he  seems  to  have  the  quo- 
tidian  of  love   upon  him. 

Orl.  I  am  he  that  is  so  love-shaked;  I  pray  you,  tell 
me   your   remedy. 

Ros.  There  is  none  of  my  uncle's  marks  upon  you:  he 
taught  me  how  to  know  a  man  in  love;  in  which  cage  of 
rushes,  I  am  sure,  you  are  not  prisoner. 

Orl.     What  were  his  marks? 

Ros.  A  lean  cheek;  which  you  have  not:  a  blue  eye 
and  sunken;  which  you  have  not;  an  unquestionable  spirit; 
which  you  have  not:  a  beard  neglected;  which  you  have 
not: — but  I  pardon  you  for  that:  for,  simply,  your  having 
no  beard   is   a  younger  brother's  revenue. — Then  vour  hose 


38  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

should  be  ungartered,  your  bonnet  unbanded,  your  sleeve 
unbuttoned,  your  shoe  untied,  and  everything  about  you 
demonstrating  a  careless  desolation.  But  you  are  no 
such  man :  you  are  rather  point  device  in  your-  accoutrements 
— as  loving  yourself  than  seeming  the  lover  of  any  other. 

Orl.  Pair  youth,  I  would  I  could  make  thee  believe  I 
love ! 

Ros.  Me  believe  it!  you  may  as  soon  make  her  that  you 
love  believe  it;  which,  I  warrant,  she  is  apter  to  do  than  to 
confess  she  does;  this  is  one  of  the  points  in  the  which 
women  still  give  the  lie  to  their  consciences. — But,  in  good 
sooth,  are  you  he  that  hangs  the  verses  on  the  trees  wherein 
Rosalind  is  so  admired? 

Orl.  I  swear  to  thee,  youth,  by  the  white  hand  of  Rosa- 
lind, I   am  that  he,  that  unfortunate  he. 

Ros.  But  are  you  so  much  in  love  as  your  rhymes 
speak  ? 

Orl.     Neither  rhyme  nor  reason   can   express  how   much. 

Ros.  Love  is  merely  ta  madness;  and,  I  tell  you,  de- 
serves as  well  a  dark  house  and  a  whip  as  madmen  do:  and 
the  reason  why  they  are  not'  so  punished  and  cured  is,  that 
the  lunacy  is  so  ordinary,  that  the  whippers  are  in  love  too; 
yet   I  profess   curing   it   by   counsel. 

Orl.     Did  you  ever  cure  any  so? 

Ros.  Yes,  one;  and  in  this  manner.  He  was  to  imag- 
ine me  his  love,  his  mistress,  and  I  set  him  every  day  to 
woo  me:  At  which  time  would  I,  being  but  a  moonish 
youth,  grieve,  be  effeminate — changeable — longing,  and  lik- 
ing; proud,  fantastical,  apish,  shallow,  inconstant,  full  of 
tears — full  of  smiles;  for  every  passion,  something,  and  for 
no  passion,  truly,  anything,  as  boys  and  women  are,  for  the 
most  part,  cattle  of  this  colour:  would  now  like  him,  now 
loathe  him;  then  entertain  him,  then  forswear  him;  now 
weep  for  him,  then  spit  at  him,  that  I  drave  my  suitor  from 
his  mad  humour  of  love,  to  a  living  humour  of  madness; 
which  was,  to  forswear  the  full  stream  of  the  world,  and  to 
live  in  a  nook,  merely  romantic.  And  thus  I  cured  him;  and 
this  way  will  I  take  upon  me  to  wash  your  liver  as  clear  as  a 
sound  sheep's  heart,  that  there  shall  not  be  one  spot  of  love 
in't. 

Orl.     I  would  not  be  cured,  youth. 

Ros.  I  would  cure  you,  if  you  would  but  call  me  Rosa- 
lind, and  come  every  day  to  my  cot  and  woo  me. 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  39 

Orl.  Now,  by  the  faith  of  my  love,  I  will!  Tell  me 
where  it  is. 

Ros.  (Jo  with  me  to  it,  and  I  will  show  it  you;  and,  by 
the  way,  you  shall  tell  me  where  in  the  forest  you  live. — 
Will  you  go?  [Celia  advances.] 

Orl.     With  all  my  heart,  good  youth. 

Ros.  Nay,  nay,  you  must  call  me  Rosalind.  Come,  sis- 
ter, will  you  go?  [Exeunt,  R.] 

[Enter  Touchstone  and  Audrey    B.] 

Touch.  [L.]  Come  apace,  good  Audrey;  I  will  fetch  up 
your  goats,  Audrey:  And  how,  Audrey?  Am  I  the  man 
yet  ?   doth   my   simple   feature   content   you  ( 

Aud.  [r.  c.]  Your  features?  Lord  warrant  us!  wha* 
features  ? 

Touch.  I  am  here  with  thee  and  thy  goats,  as  the  most 
capricious  poet,  honest  Ovid,  was  among  the  Goths.  When 
a  man's  verses  cannot  be  understood,  nor  a  man's  good 
wit  seconded  with  the  forward  child,  understanding,  it 
strikes  a  man  more  dead  than  a  great  reckoning  in  a  little 
room :  Truly,  I  would  the  gods  had  made  thee  poetical ! 

Aud.  I  do  not  know  what  poetical  is:  Is  it  honest  in  deed 
and  word?     Is  it  a  true  thing? 

Touch.  No,  truly;  for  the  truest  poetry  is  the  most 
feigning;  and  lovers  are  given  to  poetry;  and,  what  they 
swear  in  poetry,  may  be  said,  as  lovers,  they  do  feign. 

Aud.  And  do  you  wish,  then,  that  the  gods  had  made 
mo   poetical '. 

Touch.  I  do,  truly;  for  thou  swear'st  to  me  thou  art 
honest;  now,  if  thou  wert  a  poet,  I  might  have  some  hope 
that  thou  did'st  feign. 

Aud.     Would  you  not  have  me  honest? 

Touch.  No,  truly,  unless  thou  wert  hard-favoured;  for 
honesty  coupled  to  beauty  is  to  have  honey  a  sauce  to 
sugar. 

Aud.  Well,  I  am  not  fair;  and,  therefore,  I  pray  the 
gods,    make   me   honest! 

Touch.  Truly,  and  to  cast  away  honesty  upon  a  foul  slut, 
were  to  put  good  meat  into  an  unclean  dish. 

Aud.  I  am  not  a  slut,  though,  I  thank  the  gods,  I  am 
foul. 

Touch.     Well,    praised    be    the    gods    for    thy    foulness! 


40  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 

sluttishness  may  come  hereafter.  But  be  it  as  it  may  be, 
I  will  marry  thee;  and,  to  that  end,  I  have  been  with 
Sir  Oliver  Mar-text,  the  vicar  of  the  next  village,  \vln>  hath 
promised  to  meet  me  in  this  place  of  the  forest,  and  to 
couple  us. 

Aud.     Well,  the  gods  give  us  joy! 

{Capers  clumsily  up  the  Stage."] 

Touch.  Amen.  A  man  may,  if  he  were  of  a  fearful 
heart,  stagger  in  this  attempt:  for  here  we  have  no  temple 
but  the  wood,  no  assembly  but  horn-beasts-  But  what, 
though?  Courage!  as  horns  are  odious,  they  are  neces- 
sary. It  is  said  many  a  man  knows  no  end  of  his  goods: 
right;  many  a  man  has  good  horns,  and  knows  no  end  of 
them.  Well,  that  is  the  dowry  of  his  wife;  'tis  none  of 
his  own  getting.  Horns?  Even  so: — Poor  men  alone? 
— No,  no;  the  noblest  deer  has  them  as  huge  as  the  ras- 
cal. Is  the  single  man  therefore  blessed?  No;  as  a 
walled  town  is  worthier  than  a  village,  so  is  the  forehead 
of  a  married  man  more  honourable  than  the  bare  brow  of 
a  bachelor. 

Come,  sweet  Audrey; 
We  must  be  married,  or  we  must  live  in  bawdry. 

[Exeunt,  L.] 

END  OF    ACT   III. 


*  ACT  IV. 
Sgene  I.— The  Forest. 

[Enter  Rosalind  and  Celia,  R.] 

Bos.     (l.  c]     Never  talk  to  me,  I  will  weep. 

Cel.  [r.  c]  Do,  I  pr'yiluv;  but  yet  have  the  grace  to 
consider  that  tears  do  not  become  a  man. 

Ros.     But  have  I  not  cause  to  weep? 

Cel.     As  good  cause  as  one  would  desire;  therefore  weep. 

Ros.  But  why  did  he  swear  he  would  come  this  morn- 
ing, and  comes  not? 

Cel.     Nay,  certainly,  there  is  no  truth  in  him. 

Ros.     Not  true  in  love! 

Cel.     Yos,  when  he  is  In;  but    I   think  he  is  not  in. 

Ros.    You  have  heard  him  swear  downright  b«'  was. 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  41 

Cel.  Was  is  not  is:  besides,  the  oath  of  a  lover  is  no 
Stronger  than  the  word  of  a  tapster;  they  arc  both  the 
eontirniers  of  false  reckonings.  He  attends  here,  in  the  for- 
est, upon   the  duke,   vonr   father.  x 

Ros.  I  met  the  duke  yesterday,  and  had  much  question 
with  him;  he  asked  me  of  what  parentage  I  was;  I  told 
him  of  as  good  as  he:  so  he  laughed,  and  let  me  go. 
But  what  talk  we  of  fathers,  when  there  is  such  a  man  as 
Orlando  ( 

Cel.  Oh,  that's  a  brave  man !  he  writes  brave  verses, 
speaks  brave  words,  swears  brave  oaths,  and  breaks  them 
bravely;  but  all's  brave  that  youth  mounts  and  folly 
guides : — Who   comes   here  ? 

[Enter  Corin,  L.] 

Corin.     [l.]     Mistress  and  master,  you  have  oft  inquired 
After  the  shepherd  that  complained  of  love; 
Whom  you  saw  sitting  by  me  on  theturf, 
Praising  the  proud  disdainful  shepherdess 
That  was  his  mistress. 

Cel.     Well,  and  what   of  him? 

Corin.    If  you  will  see  a  pageant  truly  played 
Between  the  pale  complexion  of  true  love 
And  the  red  glow  of  scorn  and  proud  disdain, 
Go  hence  a  little,  and  I  shall  conduct  you, 
If  you  will  mark  it. 

Ros.     [a]     Oh,  come,  let  us  remove; 
The  sight  of  lovers  feedeth  those  in  love: — 
Bring  us  but  to  this  sight,  and  you  shall  say 
I'll  prove  a  busy  actor  in  their  play.  [Exeunt  l.] 

Scene  II. — Another  part  of  the  forest. 

[Enter  Phoebe  and  Sylvius,  R.] 

Sylv.     [r.]     Sweet  Phoebe,  do  not  scorn  me: — do  not, 
Phoebe : 
Say  that  you  love  me  not;  but  say  not  so 
In  bitterness :  The  common  executioner, 
Whose  heart  the  accustomed  sight  of  death  makes  hard, 
Falls  not  the  axe  upon  the  humbled  neck, 
But  first  begs  pardon:  Will  you   sterner  be 
Than  he  that  dies  and  Jives  by  bloody  drops f 


42  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

[Enter  Rosalind,  Celia,  and  Corin,  L.  u#  E.] 

Phoebe.     I  would  not  be  thy  executioner; 
I  fly  thee,  for  I  would  not  injure  thee. 
Thou  tell'st  me  there  is  murder  in  mine  eyes: 
Now  do  I  frown  on  thee  with  all  my  heart; 
And  if  mine  eyes  can  wound,  now  let  them  kill  thee. 

Sylv.     Oh,  dear  Phoebe, 
If  ever,  as  that  ever  may  be  near, 
You  meet  in  some  fresh  cheek  the  power  of  fancy, 
Then  shall  you  know  the  wounds,  invisible, 
That  love's  keen  arrows  make. 

Phoebe.     But,   till  that  time, 
Come  not  thou  near  me:  and  when  that  time  comes, 
Afflict  me  with  thy  mocks,  pity  me  not; 
As,  till  that  time,  I  shall  not  pity  thee. 

Ros.     [Advancing   to  c]      And  why,   I  pray  you?     Who 
might  be  your  mother, 
That  you  insult,  exult,  and  all  at  once, 
Over  the  wretched  ?    What  though  you  have  beauty, 
(As,  by  my  faith,  I  see  no  more  in  you, 
Than,  without  candle,  may  go  dark  to  bed,) 
Must  you  be  therefore  proud  and  pitiless? 
Why,  what  means  this?     Why  do  you  look  on  me? 
I  see  no  more  in  you  than  in  the  ordinary 
Of  nature's  sale-work: — Odd's  my  little  life, 
I  think  she  means  to  tangle  mine  eyes,  too: — 
No,  faith,  proud  mistress,  hope  not  after  it; 
'Tis  not  your  inky  brows,  your  black  silk  hair, 
Your  bugle  eye-balls,  nor  your  cheek  of  cream, 
That  can  entamo  my  spirits  to  your  worship. 
You  foolish  shepherd!  wherefore  do  you  follow  her? 
You  are  a  thousand  times  a  properer  man, 
Than  she  a  woman :  'Tis  such  fools  as  you 
That  make  the  world  full  of  ill-favoured  children: 
'Tis  not  her  glass,  but  you,  that  flatters  her: 
But,  mistress,  know  yourself;  down  on  your  knees, 
And  thank  Heaven,  fasting,  for  a  good  man's  love: 
For  I  must  tell  you  friendly  in  your  ear, 
Sell  when  you  can;  you  are  not  for  all  markets; 
Cry  the  man  mercy;  love  him;  take  his  offer: 
So,  take  her  to  thee,  shepherd: — faro  you    well! 

Phoebe.     Sweet  youth,  f  pray  you.  chide  a  year  together; 
I  had  rather  hear  you  chide,  than  this  man  woo. 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  43 

Ros.     I  pray  you,  do  not  fall  in  love  with  me, 
For  i  am  falser  than  vows  made  in  wine: 
Besides,  I  like  you  not;  if  you  will  know  my  house, 
' Tis  at  the  tuft  of  olives,  here,  hard  by: 
Will  you  go,  sister? — Shepherd,  ply  her  hard: — 
Come,  sister: — Shepherdess,  look  on  him  better, 
And  be  not  proud:  though  all  the  world  could  see, 
None  could  be  so  abused  in  sight  as  he. 

[Exeunt    Rosalind,    Celia,    and    Corin,    K.] 

Sylv.     [L.]    Sweet    Phoebe! 

Phoebe.     [R.]     Hal  what  say'st  thou,  Sylvius! 

Sylv.     Sweet  Phoebe,  pity  me! 

Phoebe.     Why,  I  am  sorry   for  thee,  gentle   Sylvius. 

Sylv.      Wherever    sorrow    is,    relief    would    be. 

Fhosbe.     Sylvius,  the  time  was  that  I  hated  thee, 
And  yet  it  is  not  that  I  bear  thee  love: 
But   since   that  thou   can'st   talk   of  love   so  well, 
Thy  company,  which  erst  was  irksome  to  me, 
I  will  endure;  and  I'll  employ  thee,  too: 
Know'st  thou  the  youth  that  spoke  to  me  erewhile? 

Sylv.     Not  very -well,  but  I  have  met  him  oft; 
And  he  hath  bought  the  cottage  and  the  bounds 
That  the  old  Carlot  once  was  master  of. 

Phoebe.     Think   not   I   love  him,  though  I   ask   for  him; 
To   fall   in  love  with   him :   but,  for  my  part, 
I   love  him   not,   nor   hate   him   not;    and   vet 
I  have  more  cause  to  hate  him  than  to  love  him; 
For  what  had  he  to  do  to  chide  at  me? 
I  marvel  I  answered  him  not  again: 
I'll    write    to    him    a    very    taunting   letter, 
And  thou  shalt  bear  it — Wilt  thou,  Sylvius? 

Sylv.     Phoebe,   with    all   my   heart: 

Phoebe.     Til  write  it  straight; 
The  matter's  in  my  head,  and  in  my  heart: 
I  will  be  bitter  with  him,  and  passing  short: 
Go    with   me,    Sylvius.  [Exeunt,    l.] 

Scene  III.— The  Forest. 
[Enter  Rosalind,   R.  and  Orlando.] 

0rl-     [l.]     Good  day,  and  happiness,  dear  Rosalind. 
Ros.     [R>-]    Why,    how    now,    Orlando!    where    have    you 


44  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

been  all  this  while?  You  a  lover? — An'  you  serve  me 
such   another  trick,    never   come   in   my  sight  more. 

Orl.  My  fair  Rosalind,  I  come  within  an  hour  of  my 
promise. 

Bos.  Break  an  hour's  promise  in  love!  He  that  will 
divide  a  minute  into  a  thousand  parts,  and  break  but  a  part 
of  a  thousandth  part  of  a  minute  in  the  affairs  of  love,  it 
may  be  said  of  him,  that  Cupid  hath  clapped  him  o'  the 
shoulder,  but  I  warrant  him  heart-whole. 

Orb     Pardon    me,    dear    Rosalind! 

Ros.  Nay,  an  you  be  so  tardy,  come  no  more  in  my 
sight;  I  had  as  lief  be  wooed  of  a  snail. 

Orl.     Of  a   snail? 

Ros.  Ay  of  a  snail;  for  though  he  comes  slowly,  he 
carries  his  house  on  his  head;  a  better  jointure,  I  think, 
than  you  can  make  a  woman. — Come,  woo  me,  woo  me, 
for  now  I  am  in  holiday  humour,  and  like  enough  to  con- 
sent : — What  would  you  say  to  me  now,  an'  I  were  your 
very,  very  Rosalind? 

Orl.     I   would   kiss   before   I  spoke. 

Ros.  Nay,  you  were  better  speak  first;  and  when  you 
were  gravelled  for  of  matter,  you  might  take  occasion 
to  kiss.  Very  good  orators — when  they  arc  out,  they  will 
spit:  and,  for  lovers  lacking  matter,  the  cleanest  shift  is  to 
kiss. 

Orl.     How,   if   the   kiss   be   denied? 

Ros.  Then  she  puts  you  to  entreaty,  and  there  begins 
new  matter. 

Orl.  Who  could  be  out,  being  before  his  beloved  mis-, 
tress  ? 

Ros.     Am  I   not  your  Rosalind  J 

Orl.  I  take  some  joy  to  say  you  are,  because  I  would  be 
talking  of  her. 

Ros.    Well,  in  her  person,  I  say: — I  will  not  have  you. 

Orl.     Then,   in   mine  own   person,   I   die 

Ros.  No,  'faith,  die  by  attorney."  The  poor  worid  •» 
almost  six  thousand  years  old,  and  in  all  this  time  there  was 
not  any  man  died  in  his  own  person,  videlicet,  in  a  love 
cause.  Troilus  had  his  brains  dashed  out  with  a  Grecian 
club;  yet  he  did  what  he  could  to  die  before;  and  he  is  one 
of  the  patterns  of  love.  Leander,  ho  would  have  lived  many 
a  fair  year,  though  Hero  had  turned  nun,  if  it  had 
not  been  for  a  hot   Midsummer  night:   for,  good  youth,  he 


Ato     KUU     L.IKU     II  45 

went  but  forth  to  wash  him  in  the  Hellespont,  and,  being 
taken  with  the  cramp,  was  drowned;  and  the  foolish  chroni- 
cles of  that  age  found  it  was — Hero  of  Sestos.  But  these 
are  all  lies;  men  have  died  from  time  to  time,  and  worms 
have   eaten   them,  but   not   for   love. 

Orl.     I  would  not  have,  my  right  Rosalind  of  this  mind, 
for,    I    protest,   her   frown    might   kill    me. 
[Enter  Celia,  R.] 

Ros.  [a]  By  this  hand,  it  will  not  kill  a  fly!  But  come, 
now  I  will  be  your  Rosalind,  in  a  more  coming-on  disposi- 
tion; and   ask  me  what  you  will,  I  will  grant  it. 

Orl.     [l.   c*.]      Then  love  me,  Rosalind. 

Ros.     Yes,  faith,  will  I,  Fridays  and  Saturdays,  and  all. 

Orl.     And  wilt  thou  have  me? 

Ros.     Ay,  and  twenty  such. 

Orl.     What  say'st  thou? 

Ros.     Are  you   not   good? 

Orl.     I  hope  so. 

Ros.  Why,  then,  can  one  desire  too  much  of  a,  good 
thing? — Come,  sister,  you  shall  be  the  priest,  and  marry 
us. — Give  me  your  hand,  Orlando: — What  do  you  say, 
sister  ? 

Cel.     [r.]      I   cannot  say   the   words. 

Ros.     You  must  begin — Will  you,  Orlando — 

Cel.  Go  to: — Will  you,  Orlando,  have  to  wife  this  Rosa- 
lind? 

Orl.     I  will. 

Ros.     Ay,  but  when? 

Orl.     Why,  now;   as  fast   as  she  can  marry  us. 

Ros.  Then  you  must  say — I  take  thee,  Rosalind,  for 
wife. 

Orl.     I  take  thee,  Rosalind,  for  wife. 

Ros.  Now,  tell  me  how  long  would  you  have  her  after 
you  have  possessed  her? 

Orl.     Forever,  and  a  day. 

Ros.  Say  a  day,  without  the  ever;  no,  no,  Orlando; 
men  are  April  when  they  woo,  December  when  they  wed : 
maids  are  May  when  they  are  maids,  but  the  sky  changes, 
when  they  are  wives.  [Celia  retires  up  the  Stage.']  I  will 
be  more  jealous  of  thee,  than  a  Barbary  eoek-pigeon  oven* 
his  hen:  more  clamorous  than  a  pnrrot  against  rain;  more 
new-fangled  than  an  ape;  more  giddy  in  my  desires  than  a 


40  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

monkey;  I  will  weep  for  nothing,  like  Diana  in  the  fountain, 
and  I  will  do  that,  when  you  are  disposed  to  be  merry:  I 
will  laugh  like  a  hyena,  and  that,  when  you  are  inclined  to 
sleep. 

Orl.     But  will  my  Kosalind  do  so? 

Ros.     By  my  life   she  will   do   as   I   do! 

Orl.     Oh,  but  she  is  wise? 

Ros.  Or  else  she  could  not  have  the  wit  to  do  this;  the 
wiser,  the  waywarden  make  the  doors  upon  a  woman's  wit, 
and  it  will  out  at  the  casement;  shut  that,  and  'twill  out 
at  the  key-hole;  stop  that,  it  will  fly  with  the  smoke  out  at 
the  chimney. 

Orl.  A  man  that  had  a  wife  with  such  a  wit,  he  might 
say — Wit,  whither  wilt? 

Ros.  Nay,  you  might  keep  that  check  for  it,  till  you  met 
your  wife's  wit  going  to  a  neighbour's  bed. 

Orl.     And  what  wit  could  have  wit  to  excuse  that  ? 

Ros.  Marry,  to  say — she  came  to  seek  you  there.  You 
shall  never  take  her  without  her  answer,  unless  you  take 
her  without  her  tongue.  Oh,  that  woman  that  cannot 
make  her  fault  her  husband's  occasion,  let  her  never  nurse 
her  child  herself,  for  she  will  breed  it  like  a  fool! 

gONG. — Rosalind. 

When  daisies   pied   and  violets  blue, 
And  ladies'  smocks  all  silver  white, 

And  cuckoo  buds  of  yellow  hue, 

Do  paint  the  meadows  with  delight, 

The  cuckoo  then  on  every  tree 

Mocks  married  men,  for  thus  sings  he- 
Cuckoo — 

Cuckoo,  cuckoo — Oh,  word  of  fear,   • 

Unpleasing  to  n  married  ear. 

When   shepherds   pipe   on  paten  straws, 
And  merry  larks  are  ploughmen's  clocks, 

When  turtles  tread,  and  rooks,  and  daws, 
And  maidens  bleach  their  summer  smocks. 

The  cuckoo  then,  on  every  tree, 

Mocks  married  men,  for  thus  sings  he- 
Cuckoo — ■ 

Cuckoo,  cttclrOO — Ob,  word  of  fear, 

TTni  to  n   married   ear, 


AS    VOl'     L1KK    IT.  47 

Orl.     For   these   two   hours,    Rosalind,   I   will  leave   thee. 

Ros.     Alas,  dear  love,  1  cannol  lack  thee  two  hours! 

Orl.  I  must  at  tend  the  duke  at  dinner;  by  two  o'clock 
I   will  be  with   thee   again. 

Ros.  Ay,  go  your  ways,  go  your  ways;  I  knew  what 
you  would  prove!  my  friends  told  me  as  much,  and  I 
thought  no  less:  that  flattering  tongue  of  yours  won  me; 
'lis  but  one  cast  away,  and  so — come  death.  Two  o'clock 
is  your  hour? 

Orl.     Ay,  sweet  Rosalind! 

Ros.  By  my  troth,  and  in  good  earnest,  and  so  God 
mend  me,  and  by  all  pretty  oaths  that  are  not  dangerous, 
if  you  break  one  jot  of  your  promise,  or  come  one  minute 
behind  your  hour,  I  will  think  you  the  most  pathetical 
break-promise,  and  the  most  hollow  lover,  and  the  most 
unworthy  of  her  you  call  Rosalind,  that  may  be  chosen  out 
of  the  gross  band  of  the  unfaithful:  therefore,  beware  my 
censure,   and  keep  your  promise. 

Orl.  With  no  less  religion,  than  if  thou  wert  indeed  my 
Rosalind  :  so,  adieu  ! 

Ros.  Well,  time  is  the  old  justice,  that  examines  all  such 
offenders,  and  let  time  try:  Adieu!  [Exit  Orlando,  L.] 

Cel.  You  have  simply  misused  our  sex  in  your  love- 
prate. 

Ros.  [[,.]  Oh,  coz,  coz,  coz,  my  pretty  little  coz,  that  thou 
didst  know  how  many  fathom  deep  I  am  in  love!  But  it 
cannot  be  sounded:  my  affection  hath  an  unknown  bottom, 
like  the  bay  of  Portugal. 

Cel.  Or,  rather,  bottomless;  that,  as  fast  as  you  pour 
affection  in,  it  runs  out. — Look,  who  comes,  here? 

[Enter-  Sylvius,  L.] 

Sylv.     "My  errand  is  to  you,  fair  youth; 
My  gentle  Pho?be  bid  me  give  you  this:     [Giving  a  letter.] 
I  know  not  the  contents:  but,  as  I  guess, 
By  the  stern  brow  and  waspish  action 
Which  she  did  use  as  she  was  writing  it, 
It  bears   an   angry  tenor.     Pardon  me, 
I  am  but  as  a  guiltless  messenger. 

Ros.     [FiPidinr/.']     Patience  herself  would  startle  at  this 
letter, 
And  play  the  swaggerer!     Bear  thi»,  bear  till 


48  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

She  says,  I  am  not  fair;  that  I  lack  manners; 
She  calls  me  proud;   and  that  she  could  not  love  me, 
Were  man  as  rare  as  phoenix.     'Od's  my  will! 
Her  love  is   not  the  hare  that   I  do  hunt. 
Why  writes  she  so  to  me?     Well,  shepherd,  well, 
This  is  a  letter  of  your  own  device. 

Sylv.     No,  I  protest,  I  know  .not  the  contents; 
Phoebe  did  write  it. 

Ros.     Why,  'tis  a  boisterous  and  a  cruel  style, 
A  style  for  challengers;  why,  she  defies  me, 
Like  Turk  to  Christian ;  woman's  gentle  brain 
Could  not  drop  forth  such  giant-rude  invention, 
Such  Ethiop  words,  blacker  in  their  effect 
Than  in  their  countenance. — Will  you  hear  the  letter? 

Sylv.     So  please  you,  for  I  never  heard  it  yet; 
Yet  heard   too   much  of  Phoebe's  cruelty. 

Ros.     She   Phoebe's   me:   mark   how   the   tyrant   writes 
[Reads]     "  Art  thou  god  to  shepherd  turned, 

That    a    maiden's    heart    hath    burned  ? " 
Can   a  woman   rail  thus? 
Sylv.     Call  you  this  railing? 
Ros.     [Reads.]     "  Why,  thy  godhead  laid  apart, 

Warr'st  thou  with  a  woman's  heart? 
Did  you  ever  hear  such  railing? 

"  Whiles  the  eye  of  man  did  woo  me, 
That  could  do  no  vengeance  to  me." 
Meaning  me  a  beast. — 

"  If  the  scorn   of  your  bright   eyne 
Have  power  to  raise  such  love  in  mine, 
Alack,   in    me   what   strange   effect 
Would  they  work  in  mild  aspect! 
Whiles  you  chid  me,  I  did  love; 
How  then  might  your  prayers  move? 
He,  that  brings  this  love  to  thee, 
Little  knows  this  love  in  me: 
And  by  him  seal  up  thy  mind; 
Whether  that   thv  youth   and  kind 
Will   the  faithful  offer  take 
Of  me  and   all  that  I  can  make; 
Or  else  by  him  my  love  deny, 
And    then    I'll    study   how  to  die." 
Sylv.      Call   you    this    chiding? 
Cel.     Alas,  poor  shepherd! 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  49 

Ros.     [Crosses,  r.]    Do  you  pity  him?    no,  he  deserves  no 
pity.       Will     thou     love    such     a     woman?       What,     to     make 

thee  mi  instrument,  and  play   false  strains  upon  thee!   not 

to  be  endured! Well,  go  your  way  to  her,  (for  I  see  love 

hath    made    thee    a    tame    snake,)    and    say    this    to    her: 

"That,   if  she  loves  me,  I  charge  her  to  love  thee:   if  she 

will    not,    I    will    never    have    her,    unless    thou   entreat     for 

If  you  be  a  true  lover,   hence,  and   not   a  word;    for 

comes  more  company.  [Exit  Sylvius,  j„  ] 

[Enter  Oliver,  L.]  '   . 

Oliv.     [l.]     Good  morrow,   fair  ones:   Pray  you,   if  you 
know. 
Where,  in  the  purlieus  of  this  forest,  stands 
A  sheep-cote,   fenced   about  with   olive-trees? 

Cel.      [Y.]      West   of   this   place,   down    in   the   neighbour 
hot  torn, 
Brings  you   to  the  place: 

But  at  this  hour,  the  house  doth  keep  itself; 
There's  none  within. 

Oiiv.     If  that  an  eye  may  profit  by  a  tongue, 
Then   should  I  know  you  by  description; 
Such  garments,  and  such  years:     "The  boy  is  fair, 
Of  female   favour,   and  bestows  himself 
Like  a  ripe  sister:  but  the  woman  low, 
And  browner  than  her  brother/'     Are  not  you 
The  owner  of  the  house  I  did  inquire  for? 

Gel.     It  is  no  boast,  being  asked,  to  say  we  are. 

Oliv.     Orlando  doth  commend  him  to  you  both; 
And  to  that  youth  he  calls  his  Rosalind, 
He  sends  this  bloody  napkin.     Are  you  he  \ 

Ros.      [Advancing   to  c]     I   am.     What  must  we  under- 
stand by  this? 

Oliv.     Some  of  my  shame — if  you  will  know  of  me 
What   man   I   am,   and   how,   and   why,   and   where 
This  handkerchief  was  stained. 

Cel.     I  pray  you,  tell  it. 

Oliv.     When  last  the  young  Orlando  parted  from  you, 
He  left  a  promise  to  return  again 
Within  an  hour;  and  pacing  through  the  forest, 
Chewing  the  food  of  sweet  and  bitter  fancy, 
Lo,  what  befel!  he  threw  his  eye  aside, 


CO  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

And,   mark,   what   object  did   present   itself! 

Under  an  oak,  whose  boughs  were  mossed  with  age, 

And  high  top  bald  with  dry  antiquity, 

A  wretched  ragged  man,  o'ergrown  with  hair, 

Lay  sleeping  on  his  back;   about  his  neck 

A  green  and  gilded  snake  had  wreathed  itself, 

Who,  with  her  head,  nimble  in  threats,  approached 

The  opening  of  his  mouth;  but,  suddenly 

Seeing  Orlando,  it  unlinked  itself, 

And,  with  indented  glides,  did  slip  away 

Into  a  bush:  under  which  bush's  shade 

A  lioness,  with  udders  all  drawn  dry, 

Lay   crouching,   head   on   ground,   with    cat-like  watch, 

When  that  the  sleeping  man  should  stir;  for  'tis 

The  royal  disposition  of  that  beast, 

To  prey  on  nothing  that  doth  seem  as  dead: 

This    seen,    Orlando    did    approach    the   man, 

And  found  it  was  his  brother,  his  elder  brother. 

Ros.     Oh,  I  have  heard  him  speak  of  that  same  brother, 
And  he  did  render  him  the  most  unnatural 
That  lived  'mongst  men. 

Oliv.     And  well  lie  might  so  do, 
For  well  I  know  he  was  unnatural. 

Ros.     }$ut  to  Orlando: — Did  he  leave  him  there, 
food  to  the  sucked  and  hungry  lioness? 

Oliv.     [l.  ('.]     Twice  did  he  turn  his  back,  and  purposed 
so: 
But  kindness,  nobler  ever  than  revenge, 
And  nature,  stronger  than  his  just  occasion, 
Made  him  give  battle  to  the  lioness. 
Who  quickly  fell  before  him;  in  which  hurtling 
From  miserable  slumber  I  awaked. 

Cel.      [t.  c.J     Are  you  his  brother? 

Bos.     |  c.j     Waa   it   you   he   rescued? 

Cel.     Was't  you  that  did  so  oft  contrive  to  kill  him? 

Oliv.     Twas  I,  but  'tis  not  I:  I  do  not  shame 
To  tell  you  what  I  was,  since  my  conversion 
So  sweetly  tastes,  being  the  thing  I  am. 

Ros.     But,   for   the   bloody   napkin? 

Oliv.     By  and  by. 
When,  from   the  first   to  last,  betwixt    us  two, 
Tears    our    recount  incuts    had    mosl    kindly    bathed, 
As  how  I  came  into  that  desert  place; — 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  5l 

In  brief,  he  led  me  to  the  gentle  Duke, 

Who  gave  me  fresh  array  and  entertainment. 

Committing  me  unto  my  brother's  love; 

Who   led   me   instantly   unto   his   cave, 

There  stripped  himself,  and  here,  upon  his  arm 

The  lioness  had  torn  some  flesh  away, 

Which  all  this  while  had  bled:   and  now  he  fainted, 

And  cried,   in   fainting,  upon  Rosalind. 

Brief,  I  recovered  him;  bound  up  his  wound; 

And,  after  some  small  space,  being  strong  at  heart, 

tie  sent  me  hither,  stranger  as  I  am, 

To  tell  this  story,  that  you  might  excuse 

His  broken  promise,  and  to  give  this  napkin, 

Dyed  in  this  blood,  unto  the  shepherd  youth 

That  he  in  sport  doth  call  his  Rosalind. 

Cel.     Why,  how  now,  Ganymede?  sweet  Ganymede! 

[Rosalind  faints.] 

Oliv.     Many  will  swoon  when  they  look  on  blood. 

Cel.     There  is  more  in  it: — Cousin — Ganymede! 

Oliv.     Look,  he  recovers. 

Ros.     I  would  I  were  at  home! 

Cel.     We'll   lead  you   thither:— 
I  pray  you  will  you   take  him  by  the  arm! 

Oliv.     Be  of  good  cheer,  youth: — You  a  man! — 
You    lack    a   man's   heart. 

Ros.  I  do  so,  I  confess  it.  Ah,  sir,  a  body  would  think 
this  was  well  counterfeited:  I  pray  you,  tell  your  brother 
how   well   I   counterfeited.     Heigho! 

Oliv.  This  was  not  counterfeit:  there  is  too  great  tes- 
timony in  your  complexion,  that  it  was  a  passion  of  earnest. 

Ros.     Counterfeit,  I  assure  you. 

Oliv.  Well,  then  take  a  good  heart,  and  counterfeit  to 
be  a  man. 

Ros.  So  T  do;  but,  i'faith,  I  should  have  been  a  woman 
by  right. 

Cel.  Come,  you  look  paler,  and  paler;  pray  you,  draw 
homewards: — Good  sir,  go  with  us. 

Oliv.  That  will  I;  for  I  must  bear  answer  back,  how 
you  excuse  my  brother,  Rosalind. 

Ros.  I  shall  devise  something:  But  I  pray  you,  com- 
mend my  counterfeiting  to  him.    Will  you  go?     [Exeunt,  L.] 

END  OF   ACT   IV. 


AS     YUU    L-lKE    IT. 


ACT  V. 

Scene  J.— The  Forest. 
[Enter   Touchstone    and   Audrey,    L.] 

Touch.  We  shall  find  a  time,  Audrey;  patience,  gentle 
Audrey. 

Aud.  [r.  c.]  'Faith,  the  priest  was  good  enough,  for  all 
the  old  gentleman's  saying. 

Touch.  A  most  wicked  Sir  Oliver,  Audrey!  a  most  vile 
Mar-text!  But,  Audrey,  there  is  a  youth  here  in  the  forest 
lays  claim  to  you. 

Aud.  Ay,  I  know  who  'tis;  he  hath  no  interest  in  me 
in  the  world:  here  comes  the  man  you  mean. 

[Enter  William,  L.] 

Touch,  [a]  It  is  meat  and  drink  in  me  to  see  a  clown: 
By  my  troth,  we,  that  have  good  wits  have  much  to  answer 
for;  we  shall  be  flouting:  we  cannot  hold. 

Wil.     [l.]      Good    even,    Audrey. 

Aud.     Give  ye  good  even,  William. 

Wil.     And  good  even  to  you,  sir. 

Touch.  Good  even,  gentle  friend.  Cover  thy  head, 
cover  thy  head:  nay,  pr'ythee,  be  covered.  How  old  are  you, 
friend  ? 

Wil.     Five   and   twenty,   sir. 

Touch.     A  ripe  age:   is  thy  name  William? 

Wil.     William,   sir. 

Touch.     A  fair  name:  Wast  born  i'the  forest  here? 

Wil.     Ay,  sir,  I  thank  heaven. 

Touch.     Thank  heaven!  a  good  answer:  Art  rich? 

Wil.     'Faith,   sir,   so,   so. 

Touch.  So,  so!  'Tis  good,  very  good,  very  excellent 
good — and  yet  it  is  not;  it  is  but  so  so.     Art  thou  wise! 

Wil.    Ay,  sir,  I  have  a  pretty  wit. 

Touch.  Why,  thou  say'st  well  (  1  do  now  remember  a 
saying:     "The  fool  doth  think  he  is  wise,  but  the  wise  man 


I 


AS     YOU    JL1K.U    11.  53 

knows  himself,  to  be  a  fool."  The  heathen  philosopher,  when 
he  had  a  desire  to  eat  a  grape,  would  open  his  lips  when  he 
put  it  into  his  mouth;  meaning  thereby,  that  grapes  were 
made  to  eat,  and  lips  to  open.     You  do  love  this  maid? 

Wil.     I  do,  sir. 

Touch.     Give  me  your  hand:  Art  thou  learned? 

Wil.     No,  sir. 

Touch.  Then  learn  this  of  ine:  to  have  is  to  have;  for  it 
is  a  figure  in  rhetoric,  that  drink,  being  poured  out  of  a  cup 
into  a  glass,  by  filling  the  one  doth  empty  the  other:  For 
all  your  writers  do  consent  that  ipse  is  he:  now  you  are  not 
ipse,  for  I  am  he. 

Wil.     Which   he,   sir? 

Touch.  He,  sir,  that  must  marry  this  woman:  There- 
fore, you  clown,  abandon — which  is  in  the  vulgar,  leave — 
the  society — which  in  the  boorish  is — company — of  this 
female — which  in  the  common  is — woman,  which  together 
is,  abandon  the  society  of  this  female ;  or,  clown,  thou  perish- 
est;  or,  to  thy  better  understanding,  diest;  or,  to  wit,  I 
kill  thee,  make  thee  away,  translate  thy  life  unto  death,  thy 
liberty  into  bondage:  I  will  deal  in  poison  with  thee,  or  in 
bastinado,  or  in  steel;  I  will  bandy  with  thee  in  faction;  I 
will  overrun  thee  with  policy;  I  will  kill  thee  a  hundred  and 
fifty  ways;  therefore  tremble,  and  depart. 

Aud.     Do,  good   William. 

Wil.     Rest   you   merry,   sir.  [Exit,   ft.] 

Touch.     Trip,  Audrey,  trip,  Audrey;   I  attend,   I   attend. 

[Exeunt j  L.] 
Scene  IL— The  Forest. 

[Enter   Oliver   and   Orlando,    L.] 

Orl.  [l.]  Is't  possible,  that  on  so  little  acquaintance  you 
should  like  her?  that,  but  seeing,  you  should  love  her?  and, 
loving,  woo?  and,  wooing,  she  should  grant?  And  you 
will  persevre  to  enjoy  her! 

Oliv.  [r.|  Neither  call  the  giddiness  of  it  in  question, 
the  poverty  of  her,  the  small  acquaintance,  my  sudden 
wooing,  nor  her  sudden  consenting;  but  say  with  me,  1  love 
Aliena;  say  with  her,  that  she  loves  me;  consent  with  both, 
that  we  may  enjoy  each  other;  it  shall  be  to  your  good:  for 
my  father's  louse,  and  all  the  revenue  that  was  old  Sir 
Rowland'sc  will  I  estate  upon  you,  and  here  live  and  die  a 
shenherfi, 


54  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

[Enter  Rosalind,   R.] 

Orl.  You  have  my  consent.  Let  your  wedding  be  to- 
morrow :  thither  will  I  invite  the  duke,  and  all  his  contended 
followers.  Go,  you,  and  prepare  Aliena;  for  look  you,  here 
comes  my  Rosalind! 

Ros.     rR  j     Heaven  save  you,  brother! 

Oliv.     And  you,  fair  sister.  [Exit,  r.] 

Ros.  Oh!  my  dear  Orlando,  how  it  grieves  me  to  see 
thee  wear  thy  heart  in  a  scarf! 

Orl.      [L.  c.]     It  is  my  arm. 

Ros.  I  thought  thy  heart  had  been  wounded  with  the 
claws   of  a   lion. 

Orl.     Wounded  it  is,  but  with  the  eyes  of  a  lady. 

Ros.  [r.  c]  Did  your  brother  tell  you  how  I  counter- 
feited to  swoon,  when  he  showed  me  your  handkerchief? 

Orl.     Ay,    and   greater    wonders    than    that. 

Ros.  [c]  Oh,  I  know  where  you  are: — Nay,  'tis  true: 
there  was  never  anything  so  sudden,  but  the  fight  of  two 
rams,  and  Caesar's  Thrasonical  brag  of — "  I  came,  saw,  and 
overcame ; "  For  your  brother  and  my  sister  no  sooner 
met,  but  they  looked;  no  sooner  looked,  but  they  loved; 
no  sooner  loved,  but  they  sighed;  no  sooner  sighed,  but 
they  asked  one  another  the  reason;  no  sooner  knew  the 
reason,  than  they  sought  the  remedy;  and  in  these  degrees 
have  they  made  a  pair  of  stairs  to  marriage;  they  are  in 
the  very  wrath  of  love,  and  they  will  together;  clubs  can- 
not  part   them. 

Orl.  They  shall  be  married  to-morrow;  and  I  will  bid 
the  duke  to  the  nuptial.  But,  oh,  how  bitter  a  thing  it  is 
to  look  into  happiness  through  another  man's  eyes!  By  so 
much  the  more  shall  I  to-morrow  be  at  the  height  of  heart- 
heaviness,  by  how  much  I  shall  think  my  brother  happy,  in 
having  what  he  wishes  for. 

Ros.  Why,  then,  to-morrow  I  cannot  serve  your  turn  for 
Rosalind  ? 

Orl.     I  can  live  no  longer  by  thinking. 

Ros.  I  will  weary  you  then  no  longer  with  idle  talk- 
ing. Know  of  me,  then,  (for  now  I  speak  to  some  purpose,) 
that  T  can  do  strange  things:  I  have,  since  I  was  three 
years  old,  conversed  with  a  magician,  most  profound  in 
his  art,  and  yet  not  damnable.  If  you  do  love  Rosalind 
60  near  the  heart  as  your  gesture  cries  it  out,  when  your 


AS    £0\J    LIKE    IT.  55 

brother  marries  Aliena  shall  you  marry  her:  I  know  into 
what  straits  of  fortune  she  is  driven;  and  it  is  not  impossi- 
ble to  me,  if  it  appear  not  inconvenient  to  you,  to  set  her 
before  your  eyes,  human  as  she  is,  and  without  any  danger. 

Orl.     Speak'st  thou  in  sober  meaning? 

Ros.     By  my   life,   I   do;   which   T    lender   dearly,   though 
I   say  T  am   a  magician.     Therefore,  put  you   in  your  best 
array,  bid  your  friends;  for  if  you  will  be  married  to-mor- 
row, you  shall ;  and  to  Rosalind,  if  you  will. 
[Enter  Sylvius  and  Phoebe,   L.] 

Look,  here  comes  a  lover  of  mine,  and  a  lover  of  hers ! 

Phoebe,     [l.  c.]  Youth,  you  have  done  me  much  ungen- 
tleness, 
To  show  the  letter  that  I  writ  to  you. 

P*os.     [r.  c.]     I  care  not,  if  I  have:  it  is  my  study 
To  seem  despiteful  and  ungentle  to  you: 
You  are  there  followed  by  a  faithful  shepherd; 
Look  upon  him,  love  him;  he  worships  you. 

Phoebe.     Good  shepherd,  tell  this  youth  what  'tis  to  love. 

Sylv.     [l.]     It  is  to  'be  all  made  of  sighs  and  tears, — 
And  so  I  am  for  Phoebe. 

Phoebe.     And  I  for  Ganymede. 

Orl.     And    I    for    Rosalind. 

Ros.     And  I  for  no  woman. 

Sylv.     It  is  to  be  all  made  of  faith  and  service; 
And  so  am  I  for  Phoebe. 

Phoebe.     And  I  for  Ganymede. 

Orl.     [r.]     And  I  for  Rosalind. 

Ros.  And  I  for  no  woman.  Pray  you,  no  more  of  this: 
'tis  like  the  howling  of  Irish  wolves  against  the  moon. 
[To  Sylvius.]  I  will  help  you  if  I  can:—  [To  Phoebe.]  I 
would  love  you  if  I  could : — To-morrow,  meet  me  all  to- 
gether.—  [To  Phoebe.]  J  wiH  marry  you  if  ever  I  marry  wo- 
man, and  I'll  be  married  to-morrow: — [To  Sylvius.]  I  will 
content  yon,  if  what  pleases  you  contents  you,  and  you  shall 
be  married  to-morrow: — [To  Orlando.]  As  you  love  Rosa- 
lind, meet: — [To  Sylvius.]  As  you  love  Phoebe,  meet: — 
And  as  I  love  no  woman,  I'll  meet.  So,  fare  you  well:  I 
have   left   von    commands.  [Exit,   L.] 

Sylv.     I'll  not  fail,  if  I  live. 

Phoebe.     Xor   I. 

Orl.     Xor   I.  {Exeunt,    l.] 


56  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

Scene  III. — Another  Part  of  the  Forest. 

[Enter    Duke,    Orlando,    Oliver,    Jaques,    Sylvius,    Phoebe, 
and  Foresters,  R.  <_-.  K.] 

Duke,     [a]    Dost  thou  believe,  Orlando,  that  the  boy 
Can   do   all   this   that  he   hath   promised;! 

Orl.     [l.   c.]  I   sometimes   do  believe,   and  sometimes   do 
not: 
As  those  that  fear  they  hope,  and  know  they  fear. 

[Enter   Rosalind,    L.] 

Ros.      [l.]     Patience   once   more,  whiles   our  compact  is 
urged ; 
[To  Duke.]     You  say,  [c]  if  I  bring  in  your  Kosalind, 
You  will  bestow  her  on  Orlando  here  I 

Duke.     That  would   I,  had  I  kingdoms  to  give  with  her. 

Ros.     [L.  c]   [To  Orlando.]     And  you  say,  you  will  have 
her  when   I  bring  her  \ 

Orl.     That  would  I,  were  I  of  all  kingdoms  king. 

Ros.     [L.]    [To  Phoebe.]     You  say,  you'll  marry  me,  if  I 
be  willing? 

Phoebe,     [r,]     That  will  I,  should  I  die  the  hour  after. 

Ros.     But  if  you  do  refuse  to  marry  me, 
Y^oull  give  yourself  to  this  most  faithful  shepherd  '. 

Phoebe.      So    is    the  bargain. 

Ros.     [To  Sylvius.]     You  say,  that  you'll  have  Phoebe,  if 
she  will? 

Sylv.     Though  to  have  her  and  death  were  but  one  thing. 

Ros.      [r.]      Keep  your   word,    O     Duke!     to    give    your 
daughter; 
You  yours,   [l.  c]   Orlando,  to  receive  bis  daughter; 
Keep  your   word,    [r,  c]    Phoebe,  that  you'll  marry  me; 
Or  else,  refusing  me,  to  wed  this  shepherd: — 
Keep  your  word,  Sylvius,  that  you'll  marry  her, 
If  she  refuse  me:  and  from  hence  I  go, 
To  make  these  doubts  all  even.  |  Exit,  R.] 

Duke.     [l.  c.]     I  do  remember  in  this  shepherd  boy, 
Some  lively  touches  of  my  daughter's  favour. 

Orl.     [*r.  c]   My  lord,  the  firsl  time  thai  ever  1  saw  him, 
Methoughl  Ik-  was  a  brother  to  your  daughter; 
But,  my  good  lord,  the  boy  is  forest-born, 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  57 

And   hath  been  tutored   in   the   rudiments 
Of  many  desperate  studies  by  his   uncle, 
Whom  he  report*  to  be  a  great  magician, 

Obscured  in  the  circle  of  this  forest. 

Touch.     [Without]      Come   along,   Audrey. 

[Enter  Touchstone  and  Audrey,  L#] 

Jaques.  [r.]  .  There  is,  sure,  another  flood  toward,  and 
these  couples  are  coming-  to  the  ark!  Here  come  a  pair 
of  very  strange  beasts,  which  in  all  tongues  are  called  fools. 

Touch.     Salutation  and  greeting  to  you  all. 

Jaques.  Good  my  lord,  bid  him  welcome.  This  is  the 
motley-minded  gentleman,  that  I  have  so  often  met  in  the 
forest :  he  hath  been  a  courtier,  he  swears. 

Touch,  [l.]  If  any  man  doubt  that,  let  him  put  me  to 
my  purgation.  I  have  trod  a  measure;  I  have  flattered  a 
lady;  I  have  been  politic  with  my  friend,  smooth  with  mine 
enemy;  I  have  undone  three  tailors;  I  have  had  four  quarrels, 
and  like  to  have  fought  one. 

Jaques.     And  how  was  that  ta'en  up? 

Touch.  'Faith,  we  met,  and  found  the  quarrel  was  upon 
the  seventh   cause. 

Jaques.  How  seventh  cause?  Good  my  lord,  like  this 
fellow. 

Duke.     I  like  him  very  well. 

Touch.  God  'ild  you,  sir;  I  desire  of  you  the  like.  I 
press  in  here,  sir,  amongst  the  rest  of  the  country  copula- 
tives, to  swear,  and  to  forswear;  according  as  marriage 
binds,  and  blood  breaks: — A  poor  virgin,  sir,  an  ill-favoured 
thing,  sir,  but  mine  own;  a  poor  humour  of  mine,  sir,  to  take 
that  no  man  else  will:  Rich  honesty  dwells  like  a  miser,  sir, 
in  a  poor  house;  as  your  pearl  in  your  foul  oyster. 

Duke.     By  my  faith,  he  is  very  swift  and  sententious! 

Touch,  xiccording  to  the  fool's  bolt,  sir,  and  such  dulcet 
diseases. 

Jaques.  But,  for  the  seventh  cause:  how  did  you  find  the 
quarrel  on  the  seventh  cause? 

Touch.  Upon  a  lie  seven  times  removed — Bear  your 
body  more  seeming,  Audrey:  rAudre7<  L.  assumes  a  stiff  and 
formal  air.'} — as  thus,  sir:  I 'did  dislike  the  cut  of  a  certain 
courtier's  beard;  lie,  sent  me  word,  if  I  said  his  beard  was 
riot  cut  well,  he  was  in  the  mind  it  was:     This  is  called  the 


58  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

retort  courteous.  If  I  sent  him  word  again  it  was  not  well 
cut  he  would  send  me  word  he  cut  it  to  please  himself:  This 
is  called  the  quip  modest.  If,  again,  it  was  not  well  cut,  he 
disabled  my  judgment:  This  is  called  the  reply  churlish.  If 
again,  it  was  not  well  cut,  he  would  answer,  I  speak  not 
true:  This  is  called  the  reproof  valiant.  If  again,  it  was 
not  well  cut,  he  would  say,  I  lie.  This  is  called  the  counter 
check  quarrelsome;  and  so  to  the  lie  circumstantiai,  and  the 
lie  direct. 

Jaques.  And  how  oft  did  you  say  his  beard  was  not  well 
cut? 

Touch.  I  durst  go  no  further  than  the  lie  circumstantial, 
nor  he  durst  not  give  me  the  lie  direct;  and  so  we  measured 
swords  and  parted. 

Jaques.  Can  you  nominate  in  order,  now,  the  degrees  of 
the  lie? 

Touch.  Oh,  sir,  we  quarrel  in  print  by  the  book,  as  you 
have  books  for  good  manners.  I  will  name  you  the  degrees. 
The  first  the  retort  courteous;  the  second,  the  quip  modest; 
the  third,  the  reply  churlish;  the  fourth,  the  reply  valiant; 
the  fifth  the  countercheck  quarrelsome;  the  sixth,  the  line 
with  circumstance;  the  seventh,  the  lie  direct.  All  this,  you 
may  avoid  but  the  lie  direct;  and  you  may  avoid  that,  too, 
with  an  If.  I  knew  when  seven  justices  could  not  take  up 
a  quarrel;  but  when  the  parties  were  met  themselves,  one  of 
them  thought  of  an  If,  as — If  you  said  so,  then  I  said  so; 
and  they  shook  hands,  and  swore  brothers.  Your  If  is  the 
only   peacemaker;    much   virtue   in    If. 

Jaques.  Is  not  this  a  rare  fellow,  my  lord?  he's  good  at 
anything,  and  yet  a  fool! 

Duke.  He  uses  his  folly  like  a  stalking-horse,  and  under 
the  presentation  of  that,  he  shoots  his  wit. 

[Enter  Jaques  de  Bois,  L.] 

Jaques  de  B.     Lot  me  have  audience  for  a  word  or  two, 
I  am  the  second  son  of  old  Sir  Rowland, 
That  brings  these  tiding  to  his  fair  assembly: — 
Duke   Frederick,  hearing  how  that  every  day 
Men   of  groat   worth  resorted   to  this  forest, 
Addressed  a  mighty  power  which  were  on  foot, 
In  bis  own  conduct,  purposely  to  take 
His  brother  hero,  and  put  him  to  the  sword: 


AS    YOU    LIKE    IT.  fit. 

And  to  the  skirts  of  this  wild  wood  he  came; 
Where,   meeting   with    an   old   religious   man, 
After   some   question   with  him,   was  converted 
Both  from  enterprise,  and  from  the  world: 
His  crown  bequeathing  to  his  banished  brother, 
And  all   their  lands  restored  to  them   again 
That  wore  with  him  exiled: — This  to  be  true, 
I  do  engage  my  life. 

Duke.     Welcome,  young  man  : 
Thou  ofTer'st  fairly  to  thy  brother's  wedding.     [A  Dance.] 

Enter  Hymen,  attended. 

Hym.     Then  is  there  mirth  in  heaven, 
When  earthly  things,  made  even, 

Atone  together. 
Good  Duke,  receive  thy  daughter, 
Hymen  from  Heaven  brought  her, 

Yea,  brought  her  hither, 
That  thou  might'st  join  her  hand  with  his, 
Whose  heart  within  his  bosom  is. 

[Hymen  g0es  t0  the  top  of  the  Stage,  brings  forward  Rosa- 
lind, and  presents  her  to  the  Duke — Celia  comes  forward.] 

Ros.     [To  the  Duke.]     To  you  I  give  myself,  for  I  am 
yours. 
[To  Orlando.]     To  you  I  give  myself,  for  I  am  yours. 

Duke,      [c]     If  there  be  truth  in  sight,  you  are  my  daugh- 
ter. 

Orl.     If  there  be  truth  in  sight,  you  are  my  Rosalind. 

Ros.      [To  the  Duke.]       I'll  have  no  father,  if  vou  be  not 
he: 
[To  Orlando.]     I'll  have  no  husband,  if  you  be  not  ha. 
[To  Phoebe.]     Nor  ne'er  wed  woman,  if  you  be  not  she. 

Hym.     Whiles  a  wedlock-hymn  we  sing, 
Feed  yourselves  with  questioning. 

Duke.     Oh,  my  dear  niece,  welcome  thou  art  to  me; 
Even  daughter,  welcome  in  no  less  degree. 
First,  .in  this  forest  ]et  ua  do  these  ends, 
That  here  were  well  begun,  and  well  begot: 
And  after,  every  of  this  happy   number 
That  have  endured  shrewd  days  and  nights  with  us, 


60  AS    YOU    LIKE    IT. 

Shall  share  the  good  of  our  returned  fortune, 

According-  to  the  measures  of  their  states. 

Meantime,  forget  this  new-fall'n  dignity, 

And  fall  into  your  rustic  revelry: — 

Play,  music; — and  you  brides  and  bridegrooms  all, 

With  measure  heaped  in  joy,  to  the  measures  fall. 

Jaques.     Sir,  by  your  patience; — If  I  heard  you  lightly, 
The  Duke  hath  put  on  a  religious  life, 
And  thrown  into  neglect  the  pompous  court? 

Jaq.  de  B.     He  hath. 

Jaques.     To  him  will  I:  out  of  these  convertites 
There  is  much  matter  to  be  heard  and  learned. — 
[To  the  Duke.]     You,  to  your  former  honour  I  bequeath; 
Your  patience  and  your  virtue  well  deserves  it: 
[To  Orl.]     You  to  a  love  that  your  true  faith  doth  merit — 
[To  Oliver.]     You,  to  your  land,  and  love,  and  great  allies: 
[To  Sylvius.]     You,  to  a  long  and  well-deserved  bed: — 
[To  Touchstone.]     And  you  to  wrangling;  for  thy  loving 

voyage 
Is  but  two  months  victualled — 

Touch.     Come  along,  Audrey.  [Exit  with  Audrey.] 

Jaques.     ^0  to  your  pleasures; 
I  am  for  other  than  for  dancing  measures. 

Duke.     Stay,  Jaques,  stay. 

Jaques.  To  see  no  pastime,  I: — What  you  would  have, 
I'll  stay  to  know  at  your  abandoned  cave.  [  Exit,  L.] 

Duke.     Proceed,  proceed;  we  will  begin  these  rites, 
As  we  do  trust  they'll  end  in  true  delights. 

EPILOGUE. 

Ros.  If  it  be  true,  that  "Good  wine  needs  no  bush,"  'tis 
true,  that  a  good  play  needs  no  epilogue:  Yet  to  good  wine 
they  do  use  good  bushes:  and  by  good  plays  prove  the  better 
by  the  help  of  good  epilogues. — What  a  case  ;\u\  I  in,  then, 
that  am  neither  a  good  epilogue,  nor  can  insinuate  with  you 
in  the  behalf  of  a  good  play?  I  am  not  furnished  like  a 
beggar:  therefore,  to  beg  will  not  become  me:  my  way  is,  to 
conjure  you,  and  I'll  begin  with  the  women.  I  charge  you, 
oh,  women!  for  the  love  you  bear  to  men,  to  like  as  much 
of  this  play  as  pleases  them:  and  I  charge  you,  oh,  men! 
for  the  love  you  bear  to  women,  (as  T  perceive,  by  your 
simpering,  none  of  you  hate  them,)   that,  between  you  and 


YOU    LIKE    IT.  (;i 

tl  •■  women.,  the  play  may  please.  If  I  were  a  woman,  I  would 
s  many  of  yon  as  had  beards  that  pleased  me,  com- 
plexions that  liked  me:  and,  1  am  sure,  as  many  as  have 
good  beards,  or  good  faces,  will,  for  my  kind  offer,  when  I 
make  a  courtesy,  bid  me  farewell. 

[Curtain  falls  ] 


THE  END. 


A  Woman's  Honor 

A  Drama  in  Four  Acts 

By  JOHN  A.  FRASER 
Author  of  "A  Noble  Outcast,"  "Santiago,"  "Modern  Anam,*-/  etc. 

Price,  25  cents 

Seven  male,  three  female  characters.  Plays  two  hours.  For 
fntense  dramatic  action,  thrilling  climaxes,  uoroarious  comedy  and 
fv  story  of  absorbing  romantic  interest,  actors,  either  professional 
or  amateur,  will  find  few  plays  to  equal  "A  Woman's  Honor." 
With  careful  rehearsals  they  will  find  a  sure  hit  is  made  every  time 
without  difficulty. 

CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 

General  Mark  Lester.    A  Hero  of  the  Cuban  Ten  Years'  War.  .Lead 

Pedro  Mendez.     His  half  brother Heavy 

Dr.  Garcia.     Surgeon  of  the  Madaline Straight 

Gilbert  Hall,  M.   D.     In  love  with  Olive Juvenile 

Robert  Glenn.    A  Wall  Street  Banker Old  man 

Gregory  Grimes.     Lester's  Private  Secretary Eccentric  Comedy 

Ebenezer.     Glenn's  Butler Negro  Comedy 

Olive  f  Glenn's       1    Juvenile  lead 

Sally  I  Daughters  J    Soubrette 

Maria.     Wife  of  Pedro Character 

NOTE. — Glenn  and  Garcia  may  double. 

Act  1.    The  Glenn  Mansion,  New  York  City. 

Act  2.  The  Isle  of  Santa  Cruz,  off  San  Domingo.  One  month 
later. 

Acts  3  arid  4.  Lester's  home  at  Santa  Cruz.  Five  months  later. 
Between  Acts  3  and  4  one  day  elapses. 

SYNOPSIS  OF  INCIDENTS 

Act  1.  Handsome  drawingroom  at  Glenn's.  Sally  and  Ebenezer. 
'I  isn't  imputtinent,  no,  no.  Missy."  "Papa  can't  bear  Gregory 
crimes,  but  I'm  going  to  marry  him,  if  I  feel  like  it."  "Going 
away?"  "I  was  dizzy  for  a  moment,  that  was  all."  "This  mar- 
riage is  absolutely  necessary  to  prevent  my  disgrace."  "General 
Lester,  you  are  a  noble  man  and  I  will  repay  my  father's  debt  of 
honor."     "Robert  Glenn  is  dead." 

Act  2.  Isle  of  Santa  Cruz.  "Mark  brings  hi3  American  bride  to 
his  home  today."  "You  and  I  and  our  child  will  be  no  better  than 
servants."  "How  can  I  help  but  be  happy  with  one  so  good  and 
kind?"  "It  means  that  I  am  another  man's  wife."  "Dat's  mine; 
don't  you  go  to  readin'  my  lub  lettahs  in  public." 

Act  ,3.  Sitting-room  in  Lester's  house.  "What  has  happened?*1 
"Is  my  husband  safe?"  "Break  away,  give  your  little  brother  a 
chance."  "To  tell  the  truth,  my  heart  is  breaking."  "Debt  of 
duty!  and  I  was  fool  enough  to  think  she  loved  me." 

Act  4.  "The  illness  of  the  general  has  an  ugly  look."  "The 
gossips  have  it  she  would  rejoice  to  be  rid  of  her  husband."  "The 
Gilbert  Hall  I  loved  is  dead."  "Standing  on  tne  brink  of  the  grave, 
my  vision  is  clearer."  "Forgive,  and  I  will  devote  my  life  to 
making  you  happy  in  order  to  repay  the  debt  I  owe  you— a  debt  of 
honor." 

Address  Orders  to 

THE  DRAMATIC  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

W^GO,  ILLINOIS 


Capt*  Racket 

A  Comedy  in  Three  Acts 

By  CHARLES  TOWNSEND 


Price,  25  cents 


This  play  by  Mr.  Townsend  is  probably  one  of  his  most  popular 
productions;  it  certainly  is  one  of  his  best.  It  is  full  of  action  from 
start  to  finish.  Comic  situations  rapidly  follow  one  after  another, 
and  the  act  endings  are  especially  strong  and  lively.  Every  char- 
acter is  good  and  affords  abundant  opportunity  for  effective  work. 
Can  be  player  by  five  men  and  three  women,  if  desired.  The 
same  scene  is  used  for  all  the  acts,  and  it  is  an  easy  interior.  A 
most  excellen  /  play  for  repertoire  companies.  No  seeker  for  a 
good  play  can  afford  to  ignore  it. 

CHARACTERS 

CAPT.  ROBERT  RACKET,  one  of  the  National  Guard.    A  lawyer 

when  he  has  nothing  else  to  do,  and  a  liar  all  the  time 

...   Comedy  lead 

C  JADIAH  DAWSON,  his  uncle,  from  Japan,  "where  they  make 
tea** Comedy  old  man 

TIMOTHY  TOLMAN,  his  friend,  who  married  for  money,  and  is 
sorry  for  it Jwenile  man 

MR.  DALROY,  his  father-in-law,  jolly  old  cove Eccentric 

HOBSON,  waiter  from  the  "Cafe  Gloriana,"  who  adds  to  the 
coni^ion    Utility 

CLARICE,  the  Captain's  pretty  wife,  out  for  a  lark,  and  up  to 
"anything  awful" Comedy  lead 

MRS.  TOLMAN,  a  lady  with  a  temper,  who  finds  her  Timothy  a 
vexation  of  spirit Old  woman 

KAT  Y,  a  mischievous  maid Soubrette 

TOOTSY,  the  "Kid,"  Tim's  olive  branch Props. 

SYNOPSIS 

Act  I.  Place:  Tim's  country  home  on  the  Hudson  near  New 
York.  Time:  A  breezy  morning  in  September.  The  Captain's 
fancy  takes  a  flight  and  trouble  begins. 

Act  If.  Place:  the  same.  Time:  the  next  morning.  How  one 
yarn  requires  another.  "The  greatest  liar  unhung."  Now  the 
trouble  increases  and  the  Captain  prepares  for  war. 

Act  III.  Place:  the  same.  Time:  Evening  of  the  same  day. 
More  misery.  A  general  muddle.  "Dance  or  you'll  die."  Cornered 
ftt  last.    The  Captain  owns  up.    All  serene. 

Time  of  playing:    Two  hours. 

Address  Orders  to 
THE  DRAMATIC  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

CHICAGO.  ILLINOIS 


Because  I  Love  You 

Drama  in  Four  Acts 

By  JOHN  A.  FRASER 

Author  of  "A  Woman's  Honor,"   "A  Noble  Outcast,"  "A  Modern 

Ananias,"    "Santiago,"   etc. 

Price,  25  cents 

Eight  male,  four  female  characters.  Plays  two  hours.  Modern 
costumes.  This  is  probably  the  strongest  drama  written  of  the 
modern  romantic  style.  It  is  a  pure  love  story  and  its  sentiment 
and  pathos  are  of  the  sterling,  honest  kind  which  appeals  to  every 
man  and  woman  with  a  human  heart.  The  stage  business  will  be 
found  extremely  novel,  but  easily  accomplished.  The  climaxes  are 
all  new  and  tremendously  effective.  One  climax  especially  has 
never  been  surpassed. 

CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 
Imogene  Courtleigh.    Wilful,  wayward  and  wealthy...  .Juvenile  lead 

Ginger.    A  Gypsy  waif Soubrette 

Nance  Tyson.     Her  supposed  mother Character 

Prudence  Freeheart.    A  poor  relation Old  maid  comedy 

Horace  Verner.    An  artist  and  accidentally  a  married  man 

Juvenile  lead 

Dick  Potts.    His  chum  and  incidentally  in  love  with  Ginger 

Eccentric  comedy 

Ira  Courtleigh.     Imogene's  guardian Heavy 

Buck  Tyson.    A  Gypsy  tinker Character  comedy 

Elmer  Van  Sittert.     Anglomaniac,  New  Yorker Dude  comedy 

Major  Duffy.     County  Clerk  and  Confederate  veteran 

Irish  comedy 

Squire  Ripley.    A  Virginia  landlord Character  old  man 

Lige.    A  gentleman  of  color Negro  character 

Note:    Squire  Ripley  and  Van  Sittert  may  double. 

SYNOPSIS  OF  SCENES 

Act  1.  "The  George  Washington,"  a  country  tavern  in  old  Vir- 
ginia. An  impromptu  wedding.  "When  I  was  on  the  boards  at 
old  Pott's  theayter."  "Horace  has  fallen  in  love  and  has  done 
nothing  but  rave  about  her  ever  since."  "The  marriage  ceremony 
performed,  I  depart,  and  you  will  make  no  attempt  ever  to  see  me 
again."     "Except  at  your  own  request,  never!" 

Act  2.  Lovers'  Leap,  a  Blue  Mountain  precipice.  A  daring  res- 
cue. "Gold  does  not  always  purchase  happiness,  lady."  "Do  you 
ever  feel  the  need  of  a  faithful  friend?"  "I  do,  I  do,  I'm  thinking  of 
buying  a  bulldog."  "Look  at  the  stride  of  him,  and  Imogene 
sitting  him  as  if  he  were  a  part  of  herself."  Within  twenty  feet 
of  certain  death.  "Gone?  Without  even  my  thanks  for  such  a 
deed  of  desperate  heroism?" 

Act.  3.  The  Courtleigh  Place.  A  woman's  folly.  "And  you  say 
his  father  was  a  gentleman?"  "I  have  already  refused  to  sign  the 
document."     "Stand  back,  she  is  my  wife." 

Act.  4.  The  "Mountain  Studio."  "You're  too  good  to  let  that 
French  girl  get  you:"  "I  struck  him  full  in  the  face  and  the  chal- 
lenge followed."  "You  will  not  meet  this  man,  dear  love?"  "It 
shall,  at  least,  be  blow  for  blow."  "I'll  release  you  from  your 
promise.  Fight  that  man."  "I'm  the  happiest  man  in  old  Vir» 
Ifijila,  because  you  love  me." 

Address  Orders  to 
THE  DRAMATIC  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

CHICAGO.  fUJliOIA 


Practical  Instructions  for 
Private  Theatricals 

By  W.  D,  EMERSON 
Author  of  "A  Country  Romance,"  "The  Unknown  Rival," 
"Humble  Pie/'  etc. 


Price,  25  cents 


Here  is  a  practical  hand-book,  describing  in  detail  all  the 
accessories,  properties,  scenes  and  apparatus  necessary  for  an 
amateur  production.  In  addition  to  the  descriptions  in  words, 
everything  is  clearly  shown  in  the  numerous  pictures,  more 
than  one  hundred  being  inserted  in  the  book.  No  such  useful 
book  has  ever  been  offered  to  the  amateur  players  of  any 
country. 

CONTENTS 

Chapter  I.    Introductory  Remarks. 

Chapter  II.  Stage,  How  to  Make,  etc.  In  drawing-rooms 
or  parlors,  with  sliding  or  hinged  doors.  In  a  single  large 
room.     The  Curtain;    how  to  attach  it,  and  raise  it,  etc. 

Chapter  III.  Arrangement  of  Scenery.  How  to  hang  it. 
Drapery,  tormentors,  wings,  borders,  drops. 

Chapter  IV.  Box  Scenes.  Center  door  pieces,  plain  wings, 
door  wings,  return  pieces,  etc. 

Chapter  V.  How  to  Light  the  Stage.  Oil,  gas  and  electric 
light.  Footlights,  Sidelights,  Reflectors.  How  to  darken  the 
stage,  etc. 

Chapter  VI.  Stags  Effects.  Wind,  Rain,  Thunder,  Break- 
ing Glass,  Falling  Buildings,  Snow,  Water,  Waves,  Cascades, 
Passing  Trains,  Lightning,  Chimes,  Sound  of  Horses'  Hoofs, 
Shots. 

Chapter  VII.    Scene  Painting, 

Chapter  VIII.    A  Word  to  the  Property  Man. 

Chapter  IX.     To  the  Stage  Manager. 

Chapter  X.    The  Business  Manager. 

Address  Orders  to 
THE  DRAMATIC  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

CHICAGO,  ILLINOIS 


PLAYS 

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This  catalogue  will  be  sent  free  on  application. 

The  plays  described  are  suitable  for  ama- 
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